


be flawed

by Ember3ye



Series: a detailed and gay examination of how alex's and john's relationship would've progressed if he had lived [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Friendship, Historical, Historical Lams, Hurt/Comfort, IT'S UNFAIR THAT JOHN DIED SO THIS IS FIXING IT, Late night talks, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Miscommunication, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Past Relationship(s), SO, as accurate/realistic as I could make it, homoerotic invasive thoughts, i hate that shit, john and alex being #bros but #homobros, john lowkey wants to die, john will fight anyone, maybe a little lack of it but that's it, the only thing that changes majorly is john's life, they aren't perfect bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-01-04 05:36:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 56,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12162585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember3ye/pseuds/Ember3ye
Summary: “Alexander!” Eliza called out loudly, spinning around and shutting the door with her free hand. “John’s here!”Swallowing, John hefted his baggage onto his shoulder uncomfortably. Clattering came from upstairs, swiftly moving from above John’s head to the grand, winding stairs in front of them. John’s fingers clenched around the handles, catching a flash of his clinking, heeled shoes at the top of the stairs. And there he was.Perhaps what got to John was how normal he looked, how perfectly he fit the years-old memory in John’s mind. His worn eyes, yet sparkling as vividly as ever, were the exact same as they were the night he had kissed John.—John Laurens lives, if only to complicate Alexander's life.(sequel to we are so much more than words)





	1. Luck

**Author's Note:**

> hi so this is the start of a self-indulgent in-depth imagining of what could've happened if john hadn't tried to ambush a british scouting group that vastly outnumbered his troops and knEW they were coming  
> good job john  
> anyways, this is the sequel to we are so much more than words, I'd recommend reading it as I will refer back to some things that happened in it, but it's not essential.  
> I hope you enjoy!

It had ended.

He folded over the letter with quivering fingers, not quite believing it. The war was over. America was free, no longer tied by old-fashioned British beliefs, no longer an abused, over-taxed colony.

He couldn't quite believe it.

Closing his eyes, he let out a measured breath. He wished he could've been there at the deciding battle, but he had his own British troop assholes done here to deal with. Yet there was a regret twinging at the edge of his mind - his men. He didn't have the authority to emancipate them - a free country indeed, one where other men were still property.

John Laurens grimaced, rubbing both of his hands down his sun-beaten face. Everywhere else was celebrating wildly, flooding the streets with fireworks and joyous screams of liberation. Here, it was completely different.

Fighting had been the only chance these men had at their own freedom.

John would battle verbally for their justice, but, realistically, a recently established battalion of black men who didn't see their due quota of war stood no chance.

Sighing deeply, John placed the letter on his desk, Alexander rising to the forefront of his mind, his last letter outlining that he was in New York. Of course he'd been in the deciding finale, no matter how eager Washington was to trap him at the desk. Was he okay? The path his fingers took tended to be slowed by that part of his belt that stuck out John had always told him to cut off. John shook his head and told himself firmly that a split second delay in grabbing his pistol by his side wouldn't cause Alexander’s death. He was much too resourceful for that.

Maybe the slight tear in the hem of his trousers that his foot kept hitching on might, though.

John prayed that he had had the sense to stitch it up shortly after he left.

He shook his head, clearing away the majority of the futile worries. Alexander could handle himself. Now, though, he had a battalion outside to inform, an announcement to make, and somehow pretend to them that they still had a shot at being freed. A little hope is better than none, although John suspected that no matter what he said or how he phrased the news, they would all know what it meant for them.

John sighed again, this time skirting his slim fingers back through his curling hair, loosening his already sloppy ponytail. He'd try his best to give them the most he could, maybe some extra food leftover, maybe negotiate with as many owners as he could to offer them better labouring conditions, but his hands were tied miserably.

His hands rose and freed his ponytail, undoing the leather strap to gather it up again, tying it in place as tightly as possible. The gesture calmed him, made the sinking in his chest just a little more possible to bear. Straightening his shoulders, John strode out of the tent, slapping the tent flap aside just a little too forcefully. He turned to the guard.

“Tell the men to be at the cafeteria, ten minutes. I have an announcement to make.”

\----

It was worse than he feared.

Frightened faces, trying to mask over the apprehension with mumbled, rapid-fire questions, quickly morphed into anger.

“They can’t just-”

“Moron, they didn’t just shove us aside, they won the war!”

“So there’s no more use for us?”

“What will happen to us now?”

“Will I go back?”

“I’m not going back!”

John heard little more before the flocked men around the stand dissolved into cries. Some only stared emptily at the ground, some kicked at the dirt and balled up their fists, some were quiet, gazing at John for any semblance of hope, some afterword to assure them that it wasn’t as bad as it appeared. As loud as his voice was, John had to shout with all the force of his lungs to get his voice into everyone’s ears.

“Soldiers!”

It took several seconds for there to be complete silence, and John inhaled richly, feeling the oxygen stick in his lungs, merging into his blood. Courage.

“America has gained her freedom, through the blood, sweat and sacrifice of her people - all of her people. Your efforts will not be forgotten or trampled over - I swear to you. The fact that this battalion was approved in the first place was a valuable step forwards in itself. You will not return home empty-handed - if I have to give each of you a wage out of my own pocket, I will. I can't guarantee that you and your families will be emancipated soon, but I can promise you that I will do everything possible, within my power and beyond it, to help you, and all the Negros of America.”

He paused, looked out at the attentive, forlorn faces, and wished he could promise more.

The applause was half-hearted, and John understood.

\----

Hope came in the form of new orders.

“Gathering up the stray British troops is not about to be a simple task,” John announced, trying to ignore all the crestfallen faces before him. “The British are as prideful as sin, and will normally fight to death for their foolish king. Be careful, and fight smart. Work in your regular patrol groups - don't go out alone.”

An approving murmur rose from the crowd before him as John stepped down from the makeshift platform.

“It’ll take a while for all of them to surrender,” John addressed a nearby group, who was chattering nervously, in low voices. “They mightn't have gotten word about what happened at Yorktown yet.”

One man stepped forwards, his heavy-lidded eyes creased up, brow down and darkened, the anxious expression John was seeing more and more often around the camp. An unwelcome appearance, to say the least.

“We know. What we want to ask is - will we be sent back to our masters?”

John suppressed his urge to bite his lip, lifting his chin instead. “I don't know yet. I will try to drag this out for as long as possible. It shouldn’t be that difficult, as we have a large area to cover. I will give you as much time as I can, I swear. And once I rejoin my father at Congress, we will focus on giving you the rights you deserve.”

The man nodded, a slow tilt of his head forwards, his features relaxing with a newfound respect, a promise to cling onto. “You're giving your word?”

“I'm giving my word,” John assured him, gleaming eyes travelling from soldier to soldier around them.

He didn't see what he wanted to see. There was little hope written on their features, only apprehension and fear of the future, what would happen to them consuming their thoughts. They weren't worried about gathering up the British - what use was it freeing a country that didn't grant them basic human rights?

John dithered, wondering whether to say anything more or not. Inhaling deeply, he set his shoulders back into a determined line, and went for it.

“I swear I will try everything to help you,” he said, loud and clear. “You are all good men, and deserve your freedom in this country you have fought for. I believe everyone should be as equal as we were created, disregarding race, sexuality, gender. You are not lesser beings than the rich and white because you are black, exact same as how I am not inferior to heterosexual people. I know of your struggles and your prejudices to a certain extent, and I intend to change that. I finish on the same sentiment I began with - I will fight for you. It has been an honour serving with all of you.”

John exhaled with a great swoosh of air through his lungs, hearing the murmurs creep up into the air. Many weren't going to be okay with the fact he was gay. He knew that, but that's how change happened. He had to make them see that it was the same traditional bullshit, stemmed from the same intolerance, was rotting away the same human rights.

He didn't expect the clapping to begin.

It started near the front, a pale-faced, strong-jawed man staring straight at John, utter respect in his dark eyes. His right hand man, Tadeusz Kościuszko.

The applause spread, to John’s amazement.

Not everyone joined in, but some did, enough for hope to blossom in his chest, blooming like honeysuckle curling around his ribs. He grinned, and his men grinned back. Tadeusz, a little proud smile on his lips, nodded at him, and John nodded back.

“To an equal America!” John roared, raising his arm and closing his fist around the clouds.

His men boomed back at him, surrounding him in a circle of dreams.  

“To an equal America!”

The cry shook some birds out of nearby trees, flapping away in chaos. Not one of the men noticed.

\---

John's hands were shaking.

The quivering didn't slow down his automatic movements, his fingers swiftly reloading the gun, packing in the gunpowder with a deft, measured pressure. Once, his shuddering had made him be accused of cowardice. The man had escaped with a broken nose only, and John’s ecstatic, trembling hands told the rest of the story.

He thrived on battle.

John's breath was rough on the inside of his throat, like needles tearing up the soft flesh as he ran, ran towards the British troops. He vaguely heard himself scream orders, and his men swelling in answer behind him, following him without a second of hesitation.

The grass’s dampness sprayed against his leather boots as he sped onwards, reaching the thick of the British. He could see their faces, their expressions as his sword flashed with all the energy of a tornado, whirling and slashing and stabbing a path through bright red coats. His gun, firing off round after round, reloading with the precision and speed of a demon, carved messy holes in weak flesh.

Blood splatters stained his widely split lips, accompanying the dark freckles.

He could feel his men around him, backing him up solidly, working through the British numbers exactly as he'd trained them to, efficiently and savagely.

You received no mercy here if you weren't merciless yourself.

He barely felt the buckshot sink into his skin, nerves, muscles, organs, but he heard the bang. He'd felt the impersonal pressure of the muzzle against his back. And he definitely noticed how he was shoved to his knees by the force of the shot, the wetness soaking in through his thin trousers and shocking his nerves into working. The adrenaline was drained from his system and overridden with pain, pain that made Laurens keel over into the dirt, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the exit wound just underneath his ribcage.

He heard the enemy reload behind him, and panic flooded him, not for the first time during this war. Gripping the handle of his sword, he lurched to his feet, crying out from the agony ripping through his torso. Spinning around, he barely saw the muzzle of the gun, aimed at his chest, before a fist bashed into the soldier’s skull. The blow knocked him over, the gun discharging as soon as it hit the ground.

Tadeusz’s sword slid jerkily through his enemy’s neck, and John’s vision flickered dangerously. Blood was dribbling out rapidly through his splayed fingers, and John blinked hard, once, twice, his legs withering beneath him.

Tadeusz’s hand grasped his shoulder, and his concerned expression swam in front of John for a split moment before he blacked out.

\---

John woke into darkness.

The pain in his torso would've been enough to blind him, even if it wasn't pitch black. Wait - not quite pitch.

As Laurens’ eyes adjusted to the lighting, he realised that a candle was burning low next to a form on a chair opposite his bed. Within a few more seconds, the slumbering body and slow snores was identifiable as Tadeusz.

John relaxed, his hand shifting underneath the blanket to press against his wound. It was tender, and he let out a quiet hiss at his touch, dizziness swirling through his skull.

Tadeusz stirred, given away by the irregular shift of the shadows underneath the orange candlelight. John mumbled a curse underneath his breath, and tried not to move or groan - but he was thirsty, so thirsty, and hell, he wasn't going to put up with that and the pain.

With difficulty, he sat up, most of his weight leaned back on his shaking arms.

“Colonel,” came Tadeusz’s sleep-roughened voice, and a few seconds later there was a hand on John’s shoulder, pressing him back down. “I don't think it's a good idea to sit up, sir.”

John shut his eyes, heaving out a sigh, but he lay back down. “I didn't intend to wake you, but since you're up, can you give me some water?”

“Of course.”

John heard a bit of scuffling beside his bed, then a metallic clunk against wood, and then finally the sweet sound of swirling water. The cool lip of the ladle pressed against his mouth, and John raised a hand to tip it, gulping it down messily. Tadeusz put a hand on his back, helping him to keep somewhat upright as he drank.

“Thank you,” he said, wiping around his mouth with his thin sheet as best he could. “I don't know if I could've survived that thirst.”

“If you survived that injury,” Tadeusz pointed out, gesturing at his torso. “I doubt a bit of thirst could kill you.”

John cracked a smile. “How long was I unconscious for?”

“Three days,” Tadeusz answered, sitting back into his seat. “We weren't sure if you would live. By some miracle, it seems as if the damage to your organs wasn't that severe. A second shot would've been fatal, however.”

“I guess I have you to thank for my life then,” John mused. “Thanks.”

“You could try to sound a little more grateful, sir. The war is over. Imagine the dishonour if you died in a minor skirmish with a small band of idiotic troops. They hadn't gotten word that the war was over - that's why they insisted on fighting.”

“The dead don't have to worry about dishonour,” John murmured back, touching his wound. “I would've died if you weren't there, but at least I would've killed him too.”

“Surviving is more important than vengeance,” Tadeusz reminded him gently. “You have a lot more than one life riding on your shoulders, you know.”

“If I died I wouldn’t have to worry,” John retorted back. “The men trust you. The transition would be seamless, I know. Some would be happier to have you as their leader, so I don’t have to worry about my life.”

“That's not true, sir.”

John rolled his eyes, but he wasn't sure if Tadeusz could see in the dark, so he let out a little huff of dismissal. “It's not as if I don't take my duties seriously, but I know you could perform them just as well. And don't bother denying that.”

“I believe you’re underestimating yourself, Colonel.”

“You’re the one underestimating yourself, Tadeusz. I don’t sell myself short,” John corrected him, his gaze distant, but firm. “I know I’m good at what I do.”

“At least we can agree on that, sir.”

Tadeusz regarded him seriously, his hands twisting around each other in indecision.

“What is it?” John asked after a few seconds of suspension.

“Were you dreaming before you woke up?”

John frowned, attempting to recall but coming up blank, then shook his head. “I can't remember. Why?”

“You were calling out for someone. Alice? Alex?”

“Ah.” John's breath stilled in his throat. “Alex. He's a friend of mine.”

Tadeusz paused, his fingers picking the seams of his coat loose. “Didn't seem like just a friend, judging by how you were breathing out his name.”

“Leave it,” John said sharply, his eyes glaring dangerously bright, cutting through Tadeusz. “This doesn't affect my capacity to lead, command, or fight. I don't see how it concerns you.”

Tadeusz withdrew, brief hurt crossing his dark features, clear to pick up on even in the ebbing light. “I regarded us as friends.”

“You're my second in command,” John said shortly. “Not friends.”

Tadeusz swallowed, but his gaze swept over John, taking in his clenched jaw and fingers packed into vicious fists. “This guy hurt you that much, huh?”

“Do you really need to still be here?” John replied, his face stoney.

Tadeusz inclined his head. “You really don't want to talk about it. I understand.”

“Then go,” John ordered, irritation roiling in his stomach.

Tadeusz bowed his head. “I'm sorry, Colonel, but the doctor ordered me to not move until he returned in the morning.”

“Well, I'm ordering you to do something else. I'm awake and I'm fine, so you can piss off.”

At Tadeusz’s silence, John’s temper diminished, realising that he might be being too harsh. He waited a few moments, attempting to curb his annoyance.

“Tadeusz - I just really don't want to talk about Alexander,” John said lamely.

“Alexander? Alexander Hamilton?”

John stayed quiet for a second.

“Yeah. Him.”

“That explains all the letters flooding in for you,” Tadeusz chuckled. “He's famous for not being able to shut up.”

“I told you, I don't want to discuss him,” John declared frankly, and he would've turned away if the pain had permitted him. “Has anything happened while I was out?”

“Some of the men aren't too happy with your... declaration. They think I should take over command.”

“I expected as much.” John sighed deeply, wincing as a flash of pain sung through his body. “They’re just going to have to deal with it, and if any of them want to challenge me, I’ll gladly take them up on the offer.”

“You are far too eager to die.”

“I’m not eager. I just wouldn’t complain if a bullet got me right between the eyes.”

“Far too willing to die, then.”

“It's honourable to die for one’s country, Tadeusz. In fact, why are you here? Why bother travelling here from your home? I wouldn't think American affairs concerned Poland or Lithuania.”

“They don't, but they concern my morals. I wanted to gain experience here so when I go back I can be a better leader for my own country, but I must confess, I've become attached to this country and her men. I can see why you're so driven to liberating her.”

“Don't forget the fact that King George is an utter and complete asshole, through and through,” John muttered, wooziness entering his skull and causing his consciousness to sway like liquid in an unsteady glass.

His words must've slurred together slightly, because Tadeusz leaned forwards, indicating for John to stop speaking. “If you don't need any more water, Colonel, I suggest that you rest some more. Your wound is not to be taken lightly.”

“I can feel that much,” John muttered unhappily, feeling the dampness through his bandages on his fingertips.

“The doctor will change your dressing as soon as morning comes,” Tadeusz reassured him as John tugged up his thin blanket with a wince. “As for now, rest.”

“I'm trying,” John grumped back, wishing he could turn onto his side without the agony of a million fire ants gnawing on his side. “Goodnight, Tadeusz.”

Tadeusz relaxed back into his chair, his eyelids already sinking down low. “Goodnight, sir.”

Sleep came surprisingly easily to John, his awareness dimming as soon as he shut his eyes. He might've dreamed about Alexander again. He couldn't remember.

\---

“Another letter for you, sir.”

“Thank you. Dismissed,” Laurens addressed the messenger, who quickly raced off on other business, already shouting out for the next recipient.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Laurens turned over the envelope in his hands. Alexander's words were inside, he could sense it. His letters were always thick - if he could, he often sent a pressed flower or two with his lengthy letter, as if courting a lover. No, no, it was just because he knew John’s affection towards botany, and nature in general. That was it.

John glanced, not entirely guilt-free, at the half-written letter to Alex on his desk before easing the envelope open. This time, there was a small, pale pink carnation enclosed within the letter, along with a delicate dried clover that came tumbling out when he unfolded the paper. John vaguely recalled something in Hamilton’s rambling last letter about studying the language of flowers - it was growing in popularity, and Alex had predicted that entire courtships would be expressed in flowers soon.

John made a note to investigate the meanings later.

With a light heart, he set the flowers aside carefully, and began to read through the letter. It was all classic Alexander, penis jokes woven in among flowing prose, serious politics scattered amongst the bitching about Lee and Burr, affection within every direct address to John. It was the ending, though, that caused John to pause in surprise, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead as he read.

 

 _It requires all the virtue and all the abilities of the country. Quit your sword my friend, put on the toga, come to Congress. We know each others’ sentiments, our views are the same: we have fought side by side to make America free, let us hand in hand struggle to make her happy ...._  
_Yrs for ever_ _  
_ A Hamilton

 

John set the letter down on his knee and thought about how close he came to not reading it. If Tadeusz had been a bit slower, if he hadn't given the speech to invigorate his men, if he had been sloppier in battle-

Stop.

John shook his head. The alternative paths to death were useless to ponder. He was alive here and now, and that was all that mattered.

He should've expected Alexander's offer. It made sense, after all. Lafayette was returning to France and Alexander didn't want - or just plain wouldn't - rely on Burr to back him up in front of Congress, so he requested for John to aid him. John himself couldn't think of anyone he wanted on his side more than Alex, whether in a debate or a battle.

Alex considered him the same, but John couldn't leave. He promised his men to give them more time, and he'd be damned if he went back on his word.

With a wince of pain, John stood up, took the flowers in his palm carefully, and hobbled over to his desk. Easing himself into his chair, he picked up his quill and continued to work on the letter to his best friend.

The flowers lay beside the letter as he worked, dead and brittle.

\---

_Regarding your previous proposal, with the heaviest heart, I have to decline your offer. Alex, these men have no rights, no purpose now that the war has ended. I will not allow them to be subjected to the filthy, animalistic conditions their ‘masters’ keep them enslaved in one second sooner than I absolutely have to. Trust me, once this battalion is disbanded, I intend to turn my focus to Congress yet again and fight for emancipation. I will be joining you in New York as soon as I can go press forward our beliefs before men like Lee get to influence our nation._

_I appreciate you turning to me for aid, but I cannot give it at this time._

_Yours,_

  1. _Laurens._



 

Alexander huffed loudly, but he couldn't deny that he understood Laurens’ refusal. Turning around in his wide study, Alexander absent-mindedly folded himself into his chair in front of his crowded desk. He'd taken the letter from Eliza the moment she entered, not even bothering to sit down to read it.

“What's the news?” Eliza asked, drifting the stand behind him, a soft hand on his back.

“John can't join us,” Alexander sighed out, scanning through the letter again. “He has to clean up all of the British troops in South Carolina and the surrounding area, and if he leaves early, there's a strong chance that the battalion will be disbanded. His father is in Congress so he holds some sway over them, and can press for the upkeep of the battalion on the premise of his son leading it. However, if John were to depart for here, Congress wouldn't send down another trusted Colonel. The land owners want their slaves back, after all, and they're going to take any and every opportunity to try and grab them back. The greedy bastards -”

“Hey, watch it around Philip,” Eliza gently reminded him, and Alexander huffed, smiling as he turned in his seat to face her plump belly.

“Sorry, Philip. Grow up with a cleaner mouth than your father, will you?”

Alexander kissed her tummy carefully, resting his hands over Eliza’s. “I don't think I can bear to wait much longer.”

“You won’t have to,” Eliza answered, running her hands over the mates bump. “He's almost ready to come out. I can feel it. Just a bit more patience, Alexander.”

“Patience is one thing I'm running short on,” Alexander sighed out, rotating back to his desk. “John not being able to come here is a blow. He would've been invaluable in aiding me in my law studies, not to mention my actual practice of it. Burr is a worthy rival and friend, but dangerously reserved. John has none of his inhibitions, which is an advantage in my eyes. I wouldn't trust any secrets with Burr, whereas John already knows most of mine.”

“I would like to see him again too,” Eliza confessed, eyes creasing up, remembering. “I haven't seen him since our wedding, and from what I recall, he was almost as charismatic as you, Alexander. You're lucky Angelica introduced me to you first.”

“Are you suggesting John would've wooed you better than I did?” Alexander asked lightly. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Of course not, but almost as well. Why'd you doubt that?”

The corners of Alexander's smile faded a little. “Eliza, do you not know? He’s - married. Very married.”

Her button nose crinkled up, bemused. “He never mentioned his wife in conversation. That being said, we didn't get a chance to talk much at the wedding.”

“Even we didn't get a chance to talk much at our own wedding,” Alexander chuckled. “I much preferred our honeymoon.”

“Me, too,” Eliza laughed out, recalling. “It was so much more private and intimate than the wedding. I like going places where people don't immediately recognise you and try to pick a fight with you.”

“Maybe if I hadn't had to return to the war and delay our honeymoon, we could've gone anywhere without anyone knowing who I was,” Alexander pondered, distress seeping into his tone.

“Don't worry, you're making sure that everyone knows of you now,” Eliza comforted him, kissing his forehead.

Alexander smiled, his fingers fondling her hair as she straightened up. “Speaking of which, I need to complete this draft. It's of a banking system where all of the money is centralised and we finally have a stable exchange rate for every currency into dollars. I still don't know how it would be decided, but with a few more years’ thought, I believe it would be an immense improvement to the system we have.”

“That sounds like a drastic upgrade,” Eliza commented. “I'll leave you to it, then.”

“I'll be down soon for supper, I promise,” Alexander told her, reaching up to give her a light peck on the lips. “Stay safe.”

“Alexander, I'm only going downstairs.”

“I’ve heard many stories of pregnant women overbalancing and toppling over the railings. I only wanted to make you aware of the dangers of stairs and gravity.”

She laughed, hands curving around her belly protectively. “I think I'll be just fine, dear. I'll be up to remind you about eating in a while, so you'll have no excuse not to come down.”

“It's not that I don't want to join you for supper, it's because I always have a million things to do and write down,” Alexander protested. “I don't have time for luxuries like eating or sleeping when the whole nation is being created from the dust of revolution- actually, that's good, I'll use that somewhere,” Alexander said, his voice dropping to a mumble as he scribbled it down on a random scrap of paper.

“I'll leave you to it,” Eliza told him, sweeping over to the door. “For now.”

Eliza left, and Alexander’s quill ceased moving, his gaze drawn to, John’s letter, lying open and exposed.

With a brief glance sideways at his financial plan, Alexander took Laurens’ letter in his hands and read through it again.

\---

Tadeusz bent over John’s shoulder, and John jolted, his hands automatically covering the page in front of him. A pang went through his torso, his stitched wound complaining at the abrupt movement.

“A letter from your wife, sir?” he asked, his tone making it clear he didn't believe it for an instant.

“A highly _personal_ letter that is none of your business,” John answered back with an easy smile, folding it over neatly.

Tadeusz straightened, his demeanour returning to professional. “Of course, sir. But we have to discuss our new orders in-depth and predict precisely how long the cleanup will take, along with a report to Congress. Which I assume isn't written yet?”

John glanced down at his desk, where a short, messy paragraph was scrawled on the top of a page. “I'm working on it.”

“Distracted?”

John scowled, shoving the letter down into his pocket. “Necessary business. Al - Hamilton wants me to return to New York.”

Tadeusz lifted an eyebrow, questioning. “And are you going to go?”

Staring at the blank desk, John shook his head. “He's probably already received my refusal by now. I can't leave these men, Tadeusz. I know they'd be in good hands with you, but my father has better connections. He can give us the most time possible.”

“Isn't that torturing them?”

“You're thinking that it's cruel to give them a taste of freedom then rip it away from them, right?”

“Yes.”

“I've thought about that a lot, Tadeusz. Every time I've always concluded the same thing - they deserve to experience freedom, or as close as they can get to it - for as long as possible. I am not sending them back, not as long as we have a job to do, and I am not simply abandoning them now that the war has ended.”

“A noble intention, but will your actions hurt your standing when you eventually have to return to New York?”

“Fuck it,” John responded, running his hand over the half-finished letter to Alex in his pocket. “And fuck them if they don't support emancipation.”

Tadeusz expressed his disapproval through silence, and John stood up, lifting his eyebrows at his second-in-command. “Something to say?”

“I wouldn't advise having such a black and white approach to it, if you'll pardon the pun. In Congress, such a strong stance on something so controversial will be unwelcome.”

He was right, John knew. Barely anybody had enough of a backbone to stand up and say they backed emancipation, never mind actually act on it. John was a dangerous rarity, and most of those branded as that were ignored in the hope they'd give up. He had been lucky so far - Alexander was another one of those determined, nothing-to-lose souls, and Washington had allowed them to write against the inhumane act, but himself still owned hundreds of slaves. It was the same with all of the others who claimed to support it - they owned slaves themselves, and couldn't imagine life without them.

All of this would be easier - well, perhaps not easier, but more bearable- if Alexander was beside him. But he couldn't be, and John would have to stand on his own.

“I understand where you're coming from, but I can't let human beings be treated like property without speaking up,” John told him, tidying away the many reports, letters and essays on his desk. “Maybe I will take a more subtle approach to the matter when I return to New York, but I doubt that. I'll shout from the rooftops if I have to.”

Tadeusz closed his eyes briefly. “I see you can't be dissuaded now. If you insist on disregarding my advice -”

“I'm not disregarding it. It's solid counsel, but someone has to do something more than half-heartedly agreeing to do something about emancipation,” John told him briskly.

The line of Tadeusz’s mouth thinned. “Indeed. And if you'll allow me to finish, I think it would be helpful if you spoke further to your men about the plans.”

John nodded slowly. “I have been shackled to this damn desk lately. I'll go as soon as I can. And Tadeusz, thank you for letting me know. Was there an upset?”

Tadeusz hesitated, pale brow wrinkling. “Not quite. But they're getting restless. I suspect that some men are in favour of an attempt to gain their own freedom.”

“That's to be expected,” Laurens sighed out. “And I can easily understand their frustration, but where are they planning to go?”

“A desperate man seldom thinks things through,” Tadeusz clarified. “You need to pacify them as soon as you can.”

“Of course. I'll do my best to settle it before there's even the beginning of a mutiny.” John’s gaze snapped up to Tadeusz. “I'll be relying on your support.”

“That goes without saying, sir.”

John gave him a crooked, appreciative smile.

“Dismissed.”

Tadeusz returned the half-smile, saluting briefly and loosely before he exited the tent with a quick sweep of his arm.

John released a breath that seemed to come from every part of his body, deflating into the chair. Great. Just fucking _excellent._ Now he had a possible rebellion to deal with, and he knew as well as they did he couldn't promise them anything to pacify them.

John took out the incomplete letter in his pocket and looked at it.

It seemed too stupid, too trivial to send now.

 

_Alex,_

_Perhaps I didn't make it clear enough in my previous letter - I feel so - but I dearly wish I could work alongside you again. Tadeusz is a solid companion, and will take command of men most excellently no matter where he is, but he isn't you._

_It's been years, but I still_ _miss you._ _want to work with you again for a common cause, the same purpose._

_I really do wish I could leave._

 

John crumpled it up.

Stupid. He and Alexander both had bigger things to deal with than sentiment.

Tossing it into the basket for burning, John pulled the started draft of the due report towards him, albeit with a deep sigh.

\---

John was on his way back from the shitter (if a hole in the ground surrounded by bushes could pass for that) crossing the camp when a cluster of raised voices caught his attention. Frowning, he veered towards the source of the disturbance, one of the bigger tents just off the path to the main firepit.

Men crowded around the entrance, and the bubbling faltered as soon as they saw John approaching, backing away to let him in. He didn't even have to push past a single shoulder to stride straight into the tent.

A yell shot up into the air from behind him.

“Colonel! The Colonel’s here!”

The tent instantly quietened down, and John forged onwards, not bothering to check who had shouted. He had much more urgent matters in front of him. Another step and he broke through the inner circle of soldiers, this time having to push aside some shoulders.

“What's going on here?” John asked, standing in the thick of something, darkened eyes scanning down every man surrounding him.

Only one didn't drop his head or avert his gaze when John’s eyes met his. So John stopped circling around, focusing on the one man for another few seconds, until he finally spoke.

“Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”

“Really? It sure seemed like ya’ll were having quite the time in here. Tell me, what were you doing?”

“He told you nothing!”

“I'll drag each and every one of you into my tent and interview you all one by one if I have to,” John declared, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down who he presumed was the main ringleader.

He was a good foot taller than John, his intelligent cocoa eyes unmoving from John’s as he answered him haltingly.

“No need. Nothing was happening.”

John recalled, with a jar, how Alexander had described to him in a letter about how him and Washington had quelled a mutiny. His gut clenched. He didn't want to hang any of his men. That would be the final resort. First, diplomacy.

“We still have a job to do here,” John announced, raising his voice. “If you have a problem, come to me or Tadeusz, but do not let it affect you on the battlefield. You're all soldiers, and I expect you to follow my command.”

He heard a noisy exhale to his side, and he turned back to the now-confirmed leader, just in time to see him speak, a large hand sweeping out in front of him.

“Why? We will not get free.”

A murmuring began weaving and spreading through the crowd, starting off low but increasing with every second of John’s silence. John's expression didn't change except for a slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Are you refusing an order?” He asked, voice dangerously soft.  

The man folded his arms over his chest like two tree trunks intertwining, big yet graceful. “What if I did?”

“You would be punished accordingly,” John said harshly. “As a deserter. Hanged like a dog.”

“Same as what happen to white man?”

“The very same.”

The leader seemed to find this funny and laughed, mellow and uneven. “Equal, but only when dying.”

“I wouldn't recommend deserting. If you are caught anywhere, you'll be hanged,” John advised quietly. “Even if you're successful in escaping, where will you go? What will happen to your families when you're gone?”

“I have no family. All dead.”

“Surely there's someone you want to return to. Someone you want to see again.”

There was a slight hesitation in his face, a tightening of the corners of his mouth. John pressed onwards.

“Give me your trust, and you'll see them again for sure. Take your fate into your own hands and flee, and you won't get very far. You feel cornered, like you have no choice, right? You do. You know what? If you choose to leave, I won't stop you. But you'll be walking away from this country, and if you don't do anything for it, how can you expect it to do anything for you? We have a job to do down here, and I don't care if you're black or white, as long as you do it. Will you be treated like this anywhere else?”

There was a heartbeat of silence.

“He…” came a hesitant voice from behind John, who turned to face him, a giant of a man, surely over six-seven. His massive hands twiddled as he spoke uncertainly, slowly. “No whipping since I came here.”

The silence broke, quiet murmuring rippling through the gathered soldiers - mellowing, somehow.

John nodded. “I don't whip my soldiers.”

“And… thank you, Colonel,” the slave continued, his shoulders mellowing out. “I like it here.”

John could help himself smiling at him, a man who'd unwittingly probably prevented a mutiny simply by speaking three sentences. He could sense the others around him becoming less hostile - if at all, there was only a little there in the first place - as they realised he did have a point, they weren't being whipped, they had food, water, and less death than usual.

John measured up the man and guessed his situation- had to endure more “discipline” than the others because his master was terrified of his size, but it was completely unnecessary and senseless.

“I'm glad to hear that,” he said to him, patting his arm - he couldn't reach his shoulder without having to stretch embarrassingly far. “What's your name?”

He said something John couldn't decipher, and John tried to repeat it, hearing snickers from around him. Well, he must've really done a shit job. The slave only smiled, understanding, and kept saying it, slower and slower, until John got it. By this time, the chuckling had become less fearful, less apprehensive, and when John broke into a triumphant smile, punching the air when he finally said it right, laughter followed. It wasn't at him - it was with him. John laughed too, slapping a hand against the man’s one with the name he could now pronounce.

Chattering flooded all around him, and the air had thinned, the atmosphere returning to its normal, gentle amiableness. Spinning back around, John saw the man he'd originally spoken to, with a cleft between his eyebrows, thoughts filling in the cracks. He still wasn't convinced, that much was clear.

John grinned at him, lifting a hand to pat his arm. He didn't miss how he flinched instinctively when he saw Laurens’ hand go up, and his chest tightened with empathy.

“Think it over,” John told him and turned around, walking out again. He didn't have to shift around anyone at all this time - they parted for him, without prompting.

He knew he would've - probably still - lost men today. He hadn't said everything right, or everything he should've. It had been dumb luck that the other man had spoken, backed him up. If only Alex -

_Stop._

-he'd have known what to say to sway all of them -

_Stop!_

Laurens physically shook his head. He couldn't rely on Alexander if he wasn't fucking here, and thinking like that was pointless. Had he done the best he could?

John feared that he had, and it hadn't been enough.

\---

John’s mind was numb, jotting down yet another report of the latest British capture. He’d done his best the last few days to integrate himself more into the community of the camp, at the expense of his paperwork, and his hand was starting to shake.

He swatted aside a stack of papers impatiently, needing more space, and they spit into the free air, their paths slowing as they swayed down to surround one side of his desk.

John stared down at them hazily, then closed his dry eyes briefly and sighed.

Before he could bend to gather them up again, clipped footsteps startled him, and he squinted blearily at Tadeusz, standing just inside his tent.

“What is it?” John asked wearily, leaning over to the scattered pages by his feet. “If you’re here to tell me that someone’s deserted, can I deal with it tomorrow instead? We won’t see them in the dark anyway.”

“Dark? Tomorrow?” Tadeusz tilted his head slightly, looking down at the dawn light slowly filtering into the tent. “Have you been working all night, Colonel?”

Pausing, John stared at him a moment, then followed his gaze to the ground, the shaft of light making it through the tent flaps. He hadn’t even noticed the gradual brightening. Straightening up with sheets clasped in his hands, he dumped them in a new spot, on top of another pile, and finally saw that his candle had burnt out.

John leaned his forearms on the desk and ducked his head down into them, groaning. “Fuck.”

Tadeusz had to hold back a small smile. “It may comfort you to know that I have good news for you.”

“I don’t believe you,” John muttered, not raising his head.

“The men seem to be a lot more contented the last few days,” Tadeusz continued, stepping to stand by the side of John’s desk. “Did you do something to pacify them?”

“I tried something on impulse,” John replied, lifting his head to blink lethargically at him. He waved a hand in the air vaguely. “There was a meeting or some shit going on I don’t know something to rile them up so I had to barge in and ugh-“

John stopped himself, and slapped his cheeks sharply. He still looked exhausted. “Long story short, yes.”

Tadeusz pursed his lips, examining John’s limp eyebags. “Impressive, but may I suggest that you get a few hours of sleep before the men see you?”

“Just because I can’t form formal fucking ass sentences and I tend to curse a lot when I’m tired doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be tired,” John murmured back, and Tadeusz grimaced.

“Then how about barely making sense?”

“Alexander can stay up all night and still be fucking brilliant, why can’t I?” John complained, dragging his hand to his forgotten quill. “It’s not fucking fair.”

“Alexander Hamilton doesn’t have a battalion highly criticized and barely endorsed by Congress to look after,” Tadeusz pushed, laying a hand on John’s shoulder. “Sleep. I can take care of things for a few hours.”

John let out a deep moan, but he dropped his quill and attempted to stand, stumbling and rocking a little on his feet as he made his way over to his bed.

“I keep forgetting that Alex isn’t here to remind me to sleep,” he said tiredly, stripping off his coat. “It’s still weird, not having anyone to physically kick me into bed.”  

“I’m afraid a twenty - seven year old should know  when to go asleep,”  Tadeusz chided softly, and John rolled his eyes, slipping off his already half-undone boots.

“Thanks, Dad, for the obvious advice.”

John gestured for Tadeusz to leave, one hand unbuttoning his shirt clumsily. “Goodnight, Tadeusz. Don’t forget to wake me in the morning - a couple of hours, I mean - otherwise I’ll be very angry at you.”

“That goes without saying,” Tadeusz promised, backing out of the tent. “I’ll be back in four hours.”

“Three,” John told him.

Tadeusz paused. “Three and a half.”

“Three.”

“I think three and a half would be a lot more beneficial for you.”

John stared him down, expressionless. “Three, and that’s an order.”

Tadeusz exhaled heavily in frustration, but nodded, knowing that there was no way John knew what time it was right now. “Three it is, Colonel. I’ll save you some rations.”

“Thanks.”

Tadeusz exited swiftly, and John barely remembered pulling off the rest of his clothes hastily, only the sensation of his toes curling around the harsh blanket before he passed out.

—

John didn't quite know how he made it through the next two years without dying.

Too soon the order came to disband the battalion, to send the slaves back to their masters.

It wasn't easy, to say the least.

“They're gathered in the main area,” John told the group of white men in front of him, angling his head in the direction.

“Will they come easily, or will we have to force them?” One asked, touching the side of a whip, hung up on his belt.

The others all looked as John’s expression hardened, the same question written in their gazes. His mouth downturning, John had to carefully control his voice for his next words - if he pissed these men off, they'd be crueler to his soldiers - well, ex-soldiers.

“I've trained them well, so no whipping will be necessary,” he said firmly, one finger tapping his holstered gun in irritation. “I'll tell them to prepare for their departure.”

He began walking off, but was stopped by fingers digging into his shoulder.

“Don’t do that, Colonel Laurens. Their primal instincts will kick in and they'll try to run.”

John spun around slowly, catching the man’s wrist and retracting his hand from his shoulder. “They won't.”

Another voice chipped in, unwelcome.

“But if they do, then we'll have an excuse to shoot them!”

This began a round of murmurs within the group, debating a course of action.

“Moron, their masters want them back. What would we say to them?”

“Easy. Killed in battle.”

“Then we’ll have to reimburse them -”

“Nobody is harming any of my men,” John snapped out, so sharp and swift that it carried the air of an absolute, indisputable order. The men around him shut up and straightened up. “They will go peacefully, and no needless violence will be used against them, unless anyone wants to face my consequences. Acknowledged?”

There was silence for a moment, then a man chuckled lowly.

“Guess all the rumours are true. You really are a nigger-lover.”

Turning around, John looked at the man who had spoken. His over six foot build was strong, probably barely been challenged in his life. He stared back at Laurens with a arrogant, wide smirk on his handsome face, a pathetic fluffy excuse for a beard rounding his chin.

John’s arm shot out and grabbed his cleanly pressed shirt collar, yanking him down to his level. His hand rested on his gun, already halfway out of its holster.

“Step outside and duel me.”

The man only gazed at him, amazed that he actually acted, this small slender freckled man holding him hostage by his neck. John roughly jerked him closer, hissing out his next words with barely an inch between their noses.

“Are you fucking deaf? You challenged me, so back it up. Either you apologise, or I shoot you and make you apologise. Which one will it be? I don't have the time to waste on you.”

John shoved him back abruptly with a powerful push against his breastbone, and the man finally found his voice again, regaining his balance.

“Christ, Laurens, calm yourself. It was only -”

“Are you apologising?” John questioned curtly. “And it's _Colonel_ Laurens.”

The man paused. “I was saying that you're right. We don't have time for inner conflicts -”

“I asked you if you were apologising.”

The man's face twisted, and John gave him a hard glare, saying nothing more. A few seconds passed in utter silence, every man present watching the stubborn standoff. Then, with a quiet cough, someone stepped forwards and clapped the offender on the back lightly.

“Come on James, just apologise to the Colonel and let's get on with this.”

James’ teeth were gritted, but a half-hearted mumble of “I apologise, Colonel Laurens,” made it past his white lips. John approached him, and was gratified to see how he flinched back, having already identified him as a loose canon. But John only grinned amiably and slapped his chest, friendly to the observers, but sharp enough to let him know he wasn't in the mood to fuck around.

“Much appreciated, James. Let's get these good men back to their masters, shall we?”

\----

Later, John found himself sunk into his desk seat, longing for a moment of rest. The last of his men were being carted away, the last pieces of the camp disassembled, and he was exhausted. Talking to bigots tended to invigorate him, then leave him drained utterly, and boy, he had been busy today.

He extended a tired hand and shuffled around some paper on his desk, finding a blank page stuck within - wow, yet another abandoned letter to Alex. Grimacing, John tried to put it aside and out of sight, out of his mind, as he lowered his quill into the pool of ink, straightening the page in front of him.

John didn't want to go back home. He wasn't finished with Congress, not by a long shot.

It led him to one option, which he wasn't...comfortable with, but it was the smartest and quickest way to get where he wanted to be.

In addition, he missed Alex.

John pressed the nib to paper and began to write.

\----

_In light of your latest letter and the completion of the British Troop clean-up in South Carolina, I have decided to return to New York and begin my biology studies, while practicing law. My father will fund me through King’s College, but finding an appropriate central place to stay has been somewhat of a challenge. With the Loyalists being kicked out and the Patriots reclaiming their property, understandably not many people are ready to rent or sell their homes._

_Therefore, I ask of you, Alexander, to honour your previous offer of lodging, and to house me until I can seek out better accommodation._

_Of course, I will pay a fair fee for every month, and reimburse you for any time I may put you out of your way._

_Please respond in a timely fashion, as I'm sure you will._

_Yrs,_

_J. Laurens._

 

Alexander leaned back into his chair, eyes narrowing. One small paragraph at the start about his personal life, and then strictly business. Typical John.

He wanted to be pissed off for the sake of his pride, but his hammering heart won out. He wanted to see John again so badly that he was dipping his quill into fresh ink before it occurred to him that he really should ask Eliza about it first. Her obligation was a given, of course - he had rambled to her about how sharp and honourable John was many times, but out of respect…

Alexander rose from his seat and rushed downstairs to find her.

“Eliza!”

\----

_As per agreed, Eliza has kindly offered to house you for an indefinite period of time before lodging in a house of your own. However, no fee will be necessary - you are benefiting mightily from our partnership, and fortunate that I don't keep your lack of correspondence against you, my dear John._

_I trust that this letter has reached you in due time, and you have not sought refuge elsewhere. If that is the case, I expect you to politely refute any other possibilities and know that our door is open to you, always._

_Affectionately,_

_A . Hamilton._

_[Eliza sends her love, and Philip also.]_

 

Alexander didn't know how not to be full-on, did he? My dear John, indeed. John sighed, wishing Alexander would be more distant at times. Despite John trying and trying to gently cut off contact - whatever they had couldn't be indulged - he never seemed to get any less enthusiastic, only more passive-aggressive, more pissed off at him for his lack of effort.

So why was John asking this of him? Why did he still want to see him?

 

_I acknowledge but one letter from you, since you left us, of the 14th of July which just arrived in time to appease a violent conflict between my friendship and my pride. I have written you five or six letters since you left Philadelphia and I should have written you more had you made proper return. But like a jealous lover, when I thought you slighted my caresses, my affection was alarmed and my vanity piqued. I had almost resolved to lavish no more of them upon you and to reject you as an inconstant and an ungrateful motherfucker._

 

John sighed deeply, folding his arms on his desk and dropping his head into them. The words surfaced easily to his mind, reread hundreds of times but still carrying the same sting the first time his eyes ran over Alexander’s sentences. Why was he going to stay with him? It would be very, very difficult to find a place in New York, but not impossible, with Laurens’ family money. He suspected he might just be making excuses to himself to see Alexander, regardless of his conviction that they shouldn’t be close anymore, regardless of the knowledge that being near to each other, both mentally and physically, will only hurt them further.

Laurens knew that.

But time and distance had tried their best to slice Alexander out of Laurens’ chest, remove the nook he’d talked and laughed and smiled his way into like a tumour. John was finally realising that Alexander couldn’t be severed out of his heart - he occupied much too large a space, and if he was gone, Laurens wasn’t sure if he would be able to survive.

Alexander was his best friend, above all and everything else.

 

_But you have now disarmed my resentment and by a single mark of attention made up the quarrel. You must at least allow me a large stock of good nature._

 

His mind brought up Alexander’s following words to the previous letter, for once being helpful and soothing him. Eyes creasing up, John wished he’d never had those few drinks at the bar. He wished he’d been quieter. He wished he’d never caught Alexander’s eye, never bonded so swiftly and so fastly, like slotting a lost section of a novel back into the original binding.

He wished he wasn’t lying to himself.

\---

_I depart on the third of this month, and expect to arrive no later than the fifth. You have my profuse gratitude._

_J. Laurens._

 

Alexander’s face soured. Really? That was it? Why did John even bother sending a letter that was half a page?

He dipped the tip of the quill in ink and dashed off a quick reply.

\---

_I would write you a letter adorned with the attention and detail you are worthy of, but I settle for a letter of the length you deserve, taking into account your effort of the previous letters to me._

_However, still, after your pathetic scraps of communication, I cannot deny that I am looking forward to seeing your face after all of these years._

_Always yours,_

_A.Ham._

 

John wasn't sure how to feel about Alexander's latest letter. He sat there just looking at it, bounding back and forth between being pleased and being ashamed.

Maybe he should've made more of an effort to stay in contact.

He thought of all the drafted letters he'd thrown away and wondered if it would've been smarter to send them, stupid or not. It wasn't as if Alexander himself contained his own lengthy letters to strictly necessary matters. Affection was something Alexander had no reservations about writing down, but John was hyper aware of the dishonour any wrong, proven words could bring, and with Alex, he had to be cautious. Incredibly so.

With that thought, John tucked the letter away into his breast pocket, and decided not to reply. He'd see him soon enough regardless.

\----

John tried not to allow himself to think.

He stood on the forefront of the Schuyler estate, the exuberant architecture and lavish gardens not intimidating him at all, not the cause of his hesitation- he'd grown up in blessed circumstances. What made apprehension flow through his limbs was what was inside the house - well, who. He hadn't seen Alexander for _years_ \- what if he'd changed so much they no longer got along? What if he himself had extinguished the part of himself that had cared for Alex so intimately, so intensely?

That would be the best thing for both of them, John judged, and his feet began trudging up the path, weighed down by his luggage.

Halting in front of the grandiose, varnished door, John tried to keep his thoughts from running away with him as he lifted the brass knocker. Would Alexander open the door? Would the greeting be an awkward hug or an uncomfortable handshake?

His heart balancing in his throat, John thumped down the knocker twice, and waited.

When the door opened, it was a woman who answered, and although John hadn’t seen her in years, Eliza was still easily recognisable.

Schuyler’s eyes were dark, almost tar, providing a striking contrast to her pale skin and matching beautifully with her black hair. Her smile was one of a homecoming, of greeting an old friend after a warm parting. She balanced a toddler on one hip, who observed John with intelligent eyes, reminding him creepily of how Alexander scanned people.

“John! It's so good to see you again - finally! You haven't changed one bit since the wedding.”

“Ah, you're only saying that,” John chuckled out, taking her hand and kissing it. “You're as gorgeous as ever, Mrs. Hamilton.”

His chest tightened as he said the final words, praying his voice had come out even.

“No need to be so formal, John. You're a friend of Alexander’s, and so, a friend of mine. Please, call me Eliza.”

“Of course. Whatever the lady wishes.”

“This lady wishes for a decent hug,” Eliza laughed out, and the baby mimicked her smile, babbling nonsense.

John hugged Eliza, and shame smoldered all over his skin, on each and every place Alex had kissed, every place he'd allowed him to adorn with love bruises.

It was years ago, Laurens reminded himself. It might still be lush in his memory, but the immediate guilt had faded somewhat. It wasn't as if it was an ongoing thing.

Did that make it any better?

A servant scurried around the corner, their hands folded neatly behind their back as they spoke.  A shock ran down John’s spine. They were black - Alexander hadn’t mentioned buying any slaves, and John trusted him not to participate in the foul act - were they the Schuyler’s family slaves? Maybe Eliza’s father had given them to Alex as a wedding gift?

John opened his mouth, eyebrows furrowed deeply, but the servant (they had to be a servant, had to be) got there first.

“Mrs. Hamilton, may you please take a look at these chairs to see if they're to your liking?”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Eliza replied, shooting John an apologetic look. “If you'll excuse me a moment, John.”

She ushered John in, another servant - slave? - taking the rest of his baggage.

“Ah, no, I’ll take them,” John insisted, attempting to grab another handle with his already full hands.

The servant (well-dressed and clean, John noted with immense relief) paused, his worried expression giving away his conflict. Sighing, John shook his head. “You know what, don’t worry about it. Thanks for the help.”

“Alexander!” Eliza called out loudly, spinning around and shutting the door with her free hand. “John’s here!”

Swallowing, John hefted his baggage onto his shoulder uncomfortably. Clattering came from upstairs, swiftly moving from above John’s head to the grand, winding stairs in front of them. John’s fingers clenched around the handles, catching a flash of his clinking, heeled shoes at the top of the stairs. And there he was.

Perhaps what got to John was how normal he looked, how perfectly he fit the years-old memory in John’s mind. His worn eyes, yet sparkling as vividly as ever, were the exact same as they were the night he had kissed John. His fingers, dancing down the banister as if electrified. His passionate smile, like the moon’s crescent, blinding and unguarded, sent a jolt through John’s chest. Hopping off of the last step and racing over to him, Alex grasped John’s upper arms and yanked him into an embrace with no regard to the suitcase on his shoulder.  John could feel his grin against his cheek, and also an identical one spreading across his own lips.

Two years had been crushed to dust within two seconds, and it was like Laurens had only left him yesterday. Alexander's warmth soaked in through his clothing, as solid and assuring as ever, and John couldn't help himself dropping a case to draw an arm around Alexander's back, nose pressing to his shoulder. He smelt like fresh paper and splotches of ink.

Alexander’s first words to him was what was in John’s mind.

“I have so much to tell you!”

Alexander pulled back slightly, still gripping John’s biceps as his alert eyes examined John’s entire face, seemingly pore by pore. “You’ve gotten older.”

“That is how time works,” John replied through a tin-tasting mouth, and Alexander huffed, lifting a hand to press it intimately against the side of John’s face.

“As dry and sarcastic as ever, my friend, but believe me, I’m so glad to see your face,” Alexander told him, his smile still vibrant. “I can’t say how many times I’ve wished for you in the last few years, your counsel and expertise would’ve been invaluable to me. But you’re here now, and I intend to make the best use of you possible.”

His clean-shaven, handsome face was so close, his smile so homely, and his palm so warm, and John had to remind himself that Eliza was here, and she was Alexander’s wife, and he couldn’t just lean forward and kiss Alex. His chest split open.

Had he really thought that perhaps the part of him which cared for Alex had died?

He contented himself by smiling back, and clapping Alex on the shoulder, moving his head so Alexander’s hand slid off his face, down to his neck.

Eliza’s voice, sounding urgent, broke into their little bubble.

“Alexander, will you attend to Philip for now? He's restless today, I'm constantly worried that he'll run off on us, especially with all the renovations happening around the place.”

“Alright. Give him here.”

She handed the child to Alexander, who cradled him against his chest, Philip’s face nuzzling into his collarbone.

“Philip, this is John Laurens. Say ‘hello, John.’”

“Hi Philip,” John said, wriggling his fingers in greeting. “What's good, kid?”

Philip glanced around, stared at John for a second and made a pleased noise, wriggling his fingers right back at him.

“Ah, I see your son recognises greatness,” John jested, touching his fingertips gently to Philip’s.

Alexander gave him a flat look. “Stop acting like you're better than you are around my son. He isn't even two yet.”

“Ah, so you admit that I am marvellous,” Laurens snickered back, and Alexander had to suppress a smile.

“Did all of my letters go straight to your ego, Laurens?”

“I already knew I was great beforehand, thank you very much,” John shot back. “But your true words were appreciated.”

“It would've been appreciated if you'd have let me know that,” Alexander told him, a more serious undercurrent to his tone.

“Alex, I tried to reply as often as I could,” John reassured him. “You know I couldn't discuss military affairs -”

“Then why didn't you tell me about you? I know you're a humble man but really, John, was it too much to ask for a simple letter on how you're doing? On how your men are doing? Your thoughts on the current politics? I value your opinion and hold it in high regard. I would've liked to know them.”

“I didn't realise it bothered you so much,” John said flatly. “You only mentioned it in your letters once.”

Alexander's face darkened, his eyebrows creating a cleft in his forehead.

“Yes, after you hardly wrote me one letter in reply,” he snapped, and Philip began wailing in his arms. The flash anger in Alexander's face faded swiftly away as he attempted to calm Philip, talking to him in a hushed voice, swaying him gently. John only stood there and swallowed down the thick clump in his throat.

Eliza reappeared a few seconds later, frowning as she watched Alexander soothe Philip.

“Why was he upset?” She asked, her black eyes sweeping through John and Alexander, attempting to grasp the atmosphere.

“Probably hungry,” Alexander suggested lightly. “It's near everyone’s dinner time.”

“Yeah,” John backed him up lamely, then quickly gestured to his luggage in the hall. “Uh. Is there anywhere I can put this?”

“Of course,” Eliza responded crisply. “Alexander, will you show John to his room? I'll take care of Philip.”

Handing a calming Philip back to Eliza, Alexander bent down to grab some of John’s baggage without saying a word. John resisted biting his lower lip, lest Eliza see and figure out something more than hunger was afoot.

Alexander led John through the hallways in uncomfortable silence. John wanted to bring up the possible slaves he'd seen, but somehow he sensed this was not the greatest time. Should he try for some small talk?

They'd never been in this position before - if Alexander had wanted to talk, he'd have opened his damn mouth by now, emptied the endless well of opinions and words.

They started up a flight of rich mahogany stairs, portraits lining the walls - all of them Schuylers, John noted - and finally, Alexander spoke.

“I know you were busy, John,” Alexander began, his words stifling, pounding guilt against John’s ears. “But I would’ve appreciated more than one curt letter every six months. My patience only stretches so far, as important as your friendship is to me.”

John inclined his head, nails biting into the leather handles of his cases as they made their way up the circling staircase. Friendship, huh? Fucking friendship. To act like nothing had happened between them, to pretend nothing was between them. Like ALexander hadn’t sworn to make Eliza understand, to let John live with him, to risk his whole career for him.

It wasn’t possible, but John couldn’t forget.

“I'm sorry for not writing more,” John said finally, as they rounded the top of the stairs. “I had a lot on my mind.”

“So do I,” Alex answered readily, and his eyes flashed with accusations. “I still know how important it is to make time for my friends.”

“I said I was sorry, do you want me to go back in time and write you a damn letter about how my shit was two weeks ago?” John sharply replied, not quite snapping but close enough, close enough for Alexander’s expression to sour, his lips forming an indignant pout and his eyes slits.

John exhaled, curbing his irritation, and rested a hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “I promise I’ll write more when I leave, alright?”

“Alright,” was Alexander’s stiff response, and he cut around the corner unexpectedly, forcing John’s hand to slide off his shoulder. “Here’s your room.”

“Thanks.”

John waited as Alexander twisted the key around in the lock - or tried to, it didn’t seem to be working. Or maybe his ardent cussing was from being pissed off at John. The thought made John’s chest sink, ribcage and heart and lungs feeling like they were melding together from the pressure.

“Alexander.”

“What?” Alex muttered, not looking at John as he wrestled with the troublesome lock. “I was certain this was the key, I put it in the drawer today especially so I wouldn’t mix it up with the rest this is fucking-” he broke off into incomprehensible ranting, too low for John to hear. He did pick up a ‘fuck,’ here and there, though.

John laid his temple against the cool wood of the door, so he was gazing directly at Alexander. “I did want to write to you, you have to know that. Whenever there was an exciting moment in a battle I always wanted to turn to you and tell you about it. I’d see one of those quills you like for sale and - hold on a second,” John told him, turning around and rooting through his bags. “You can’t really get them in New York, can you? They’re the ones with magpie feathers. Here.”

John handed Alex the quills wrapped in brown paper, who was now staring at him, his frustrations over the lock utterly forgotten. His breath stopping in his chest, John watched as the anger quietly crept out of Alexander's expression, the small token draining him of his grudge. Because it was proof, proof that John was thinking about him, proof that he still valued their friendship.

 

_But you have now disarmed my resentment and by a single mark of attention made up the quarrel._

 

“No, you can’t, it’s infuriating,” Alexander informed him as he accepted the slim parcel gratefully, the hint of a smile prying on his lips. “Mine are quite worn out at this stage, becoming messy and grainy no matter what ink I use. Thank you, John.”

Clasping the gift in his palms, Alexander let his grin loose, flourishing across his face, thunderous only seconds before. John felt his cheeks flush dark, goosebumps springing up among his freckles.

Fuck.

Distance, distance, distance.

“You’re welcome,” John murmured back vaguely, suppressing his natural urge to grin back and smack him fondly in the shoulder. That’s what he used to do when he was in love with him.

Alexander, switching his focus back to the lock, rotated the key around easily, as if freshly oiled. Giving a huff of amusement, John bypassed Alexander’s playfully offended expression, choosing not to engage in any banter. He was here for practical reasons only.

The door swung inwards, and John raised his eyebrows as Alexander glided in first, splaying out his arms proudly. “It’s quite a room, don’t you agree?”

“Magnificent,” John said, thinking about how much the luxurious curtains, the elaborate rug, the grandeur of the bed, reminded him of home.

That wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

Alexander was bathing in his newfound money and social standing, understandably so, but John felt it uncomfortable to bear, seeing Alex in such a familiar and unpleasant environment and enjoying it so.

Alex turned around slightly, smiling at him. “This is your room, the spare bedroom. Stay as long as you want.”

John’s mouth felt dry, and he licked his lips, nodded, and shifted his jacket sleeves downwards. “Thanks.”

The words were heavy on his tongue, and he broke eye contact, starting to lay down his things on the desk.

“John, it's fine,” came Alexander’s light voice as he circled around to stand beside him, once again in his field of vision. “Eliza won’t be expecting us until supper. Tell me everything. I want to know how you did in every battle, about your men, about you. I know you weren't allowed to discuss military affairs in the letters, but the war is over now.” Here Alexander gave him a large, excited grin, one befitting of a young boy, reminding John of that exuberant, boundless nineteen year old at the bar.

Alexander outstretched a hand and touched John’s arm. “We can discuss more personal topics too. I

missed you. Eliza is a good companion, but nobody compares to you.”

John breathed out, in a shuddering series of small exhales. Only Alex could be so bold and straightforward and mean every word of it like that. Only he could say shit like that aloud and not make John cringe or flinch away.

It made his skin prickle uncomfortably against his shirt, suddenly warm from the rushed blood flow.

“I don't know, I'm a bit tired after the journey,” John said truthfully, eyes and hands darting away from him, wishing he would take his hand off of his arm. “Maybe after dinner?”

He knew what would happen if him and Alex started to trust each other like they used to, bond over dreams like they used to, talk like they used to in the early hours of the morning, slow and unfiltered.

He wasn't sure if the guilt clawing at his insides could handle any more. He didn't want to feed the shame rotting away his heart any more.

The distance, physical distance and the distance of years apart, had given them a chance. Alex and Eliza. They were a good match - even John, with his bias, could see that. Who was he to ruin their bliss?

He met Alexander’s eyes and saw them dim in disappointment, quickly masked over, but not swift enough for John not to notice. He wondered if Eliza knew how Alex’s eyes crinkled up when he was ecstatic, only focused on his passions. She probably did.

“Well,” Alexander began, withdrawing his hand with a small cough. “Of course you're tired after your arduous journey. I'll allow you to rest awhile, but I -”

“Alex,” John cut in, giving him a weary grin. “Shut it. You're talking too formal again. I'm not a member of Congress you have to charm or convince. I'm your friend.”

The light faded back into Alexander's eyes, and he shot finger guns over to John as he took a step back.

“In that case, I expect for you to haul your exhausted ass downstairs in time for dinner, and if not, I'm going to wake you up anyway. Loudly and rudely. I'll fart in your face or something. Got it?”

Laurens straightened up, his shoulders sloping downwards, relaxing in midst of their usual, years-old banter.

“If you do that I swear to God, you'll wake up one day and you won't have any testicles. If I'm feeling generous, maybe I'll leave you one, so you can still make that ridiculously large family you've always wanted a reality.”

His chest felt tight as he said those words.

Laughing, Alexander only waved farewell and backed out the door, winking.

“I'll see you at dinner, John,” he called out through the closing crack of the door.

“Yeah,” was John’s half-hearted response as he stared down at his stuff, a lot more than exhaustion weighing him down.

He shouldn't have come here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> predictably, john struggles with his love and morals, burr and john bond, alexander's the most confused he's ever been, and eliza is a master of chess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello  
> I don't know what to say here but I hope you enjoy this chapter  
> shoutout to murtfy, beta master, love ya <3

It only took John a matter of uncomfortable minutes to tuck away most of his things into the chest by the end of the lavish bed, and slot his stationary into the desk opposite. It felt weird, somehow. Like he was a parasite, infesting Alexander’s home, his dedicated marriage. 

Maybe he should’ve ignored the burning need to see Alex, put it off for another two years. Maybe then John’s chest wouldn’t tighten unpleasantly every time Alexander and Eliza shared a caring glance. 

Loitering in the middle of the room, John kept looking around him, trying to imagine himself staying here permanently. The image didn’t sit well with him. 

John walked over to the window, pushing aside the red curtains further to let more light into the room. He should do what he told Alexander he would - sleep - but the truth was that his nerves were still on edge after seeing him. Somehow he doubted he could rest, even if he wanted to. 

New York’s streets were never empty, John would give the city that much. 

Although Alexander’s house was situated within the neighbourhood of merchants, it was number eight-four - barely in, which reflected his career, now that John thought about it. His gaze drifted down the tarnished street, past polished mailboxes and the fresh-painted porches, and was struck by a familiar gait. John leaned forwards, his nose touching the glass, and tried to convince himself that he didn’t just see Aaron Burr’s reserved, closed-off figure striding down the path. 

No, John realised as he watched Burr wave amiably at a passing neighbour. That really is Aaron. 

To his knowledge, there wasn’t any markets or practices up that was - it was purely residential, for the more upper-class population. John couldn’t stop himself cracking a smile to himself. How much did Alex hate living on the same street as Burr? he wondered, as Aaron faded from his sight.

He couldn’t wait to hear Alex’s thoughts on that subject later, certain he’d have a lot to say about it. Chance meetings in the street, dinner parties - John almost regretted not coming back sooner, just to drink up the underlying drama. 

John retreated back to the bed, flopping frontways onto the soft coverings, far too many pillows making the surface uneven and not very comfortable. He pushed all of the pillows out of the way as he turned onto his back, wishing he could sleep. 

——

John was glad he had packed some decent reading to kill a couple of hours. 

Hefting “A Vindication of the Rights of Woman” in his palms, John stood up, his mind already having absorbed enough for one evening. Burr had highly recommended it to him years ago, and John, being typical John, had only found a space in his schedule now to read it. 

Laying it on his desk, he stretched upwards, fingers linked above his head, and felt his spine click. Abruptly, his stomach began working again, and now his torso felt like it had a hole through it. Again. 

John let out a little huff of amusement at the thought, grabbing his coat from the bed. He took a moment to glance at himself in the mirror, straightening his shirt, quickly combing through his hair.

Sighing, he examined himself closer, noting everything that he‘d never given himself time to before. His freckles were less obvious against his sun-beaten skin now, blending into the deep hollows beneath his eyes. The surface of his lips was cracked badly, reflecting the pointed jawline which was a substantial bit thinner than he recalled, the edges of his mouth seemingly nearer to the sides of his chin. 

When was the last time he’d even looked in the mirror, apart from a quick shave and face wash whenever he could? He dragged a hand down his cheek, feeling a rough patch scrape against his palm. Shit. He had to shave again? 

A swift check of the time told him that he couldn’t. With one last hasty smoothing out of his outfit, adjusting the ruffles out of the sleeves so they appeared a bit smarter, he murmured, “fuck it,” underneath his breath and strode over to the door. 

\----

Entering the hallway, he heard the tapping of tiny feet, and turned to see a toddler unsteadily exiting what John presumed to be the nursery. He frowned at the open door, stepping forwards to the young kid, drawing his attention to him. 

“Hey, hey, Philip, isn't it?” John greeted warmly, crouching down to accommodate the little toddler now gaily tottering towards him. “What’s new?”

The returning smile warmed his heart - apparently he had inherited Eliza’s trusting, welcoming nature. Most kids his age were shy - well, from what few children Laurens had encountered, all he could think about when he saw them was his brother, and so he tried to avoid them as much as possible. 

Philip blabbed out a nonsensical word, chubby cheeks adorned with freckles identical to John’s. 

“I wanted to name him John, but Eliza insisted on honouring her father,” came a voice to his right, and Philip turned away from Laurens, hands outstretched as he waddled forwards. 

“Pa-pa!”

Alexander stepped completely out of the doorway almost directly opposite Laurens’ room - which was what he presumed was the study, from the brief picture of papers stacked upon papers like a self-created nest of words. He moved slowly and precisely - a sure sign that he had been entranced in a writing reverie only moments before. 

John raised an eyebrow at Alexander as he swept Philip up into his arms with an adoring smile. “Only because he has freckles? Should I be offended?” 

Alexander gave a gentle snort, Philip balanced on his hip, jiggling him up and down carefully to pacify him. It wasn't a common sight, and John understood why his opponents mocked him for his feminine traits. He was fairly certain his father never held him like that. 

“No, not just his freckles - look, he has curly hair too,” Alexander pointed out, brushing a hand over the frizzy tuft on Philip’s head. “He came out with a couple of strands of it when he was born. It's my mother’s influence, I'm sure of that much. Although it's blonde.”

“It’ll probably turn brown when he grows up.” John straightened up, one hand giving Philip a gentle tickle on the crinkled palm of his miniature hand. “Can he speak yet, or am I just too much of a stranger for him to talk around me?” 

“He can,” Alexander declared proudly, watching as Philip’s fingers tried to clasp around John’s thumb. 

“Hey, Philip. Say ‘yo,’” John suggested, feeling his death grip on his thumb grow uncomfortably strong. “Yo, yo yo. Try it.” 

“You are not teaching my son incorrect English,” Alexander protested, but too late. 

With a wide grin, Philip spoke. “Yo yo yo! Toy!” 

“No, not the toy,” Laurens explained. “It's like hello. Say ‘Yo, Papa.’” 

“You Pa-pa!”

“No, no, I'm not your Papa,” Laurens said kindly. “Try again. Yo, Papa.” 

“Yo Papa!” 

“You got it!” 

Laurens held up his hand for a high five, and Philip happily slapped it with all the strength he had, almost lurching out of Alexander's arms. Laughing, John glanced back to Alexander, and frowned. 

“Alex?” 

Alexander's misty gaze snapped back to sharpness, his absent smile being replaced by a large grin, just like the one on Philip’s face. 

“Sorry, you two seemed to be getting along so I decided to think about - about my latest case,” Alexander amended, eyes flickering sideways for a moment before he started moving away. “In any case, move. It's time for supper.” 

“Wait.” 

John stepped forwards and caught his arm, expression turning serious. “Alex, your Negro servants - tell me that you didn’t buy them. You surely didn’t support the sick industry, did you?” 

Alexander’s brow furrowed. “Of course not. Senator Schuyler gave them to us as slaves as part of a wedding gift, and we’ve since freed them. They’re servants, and we pay them a fair wage.” 

Alexander paused, watching the relief flood John’s face with calculating eyes. 

“You didn’t think I’d actually be that hypocritical, did you?” Alexander asked him sharply. “Do you trust me that little?”

“No - I just had to be sure,” John explained, his chest sinking. 

“I understand, but I still expected you to have a bit more faith in me,” Alex told him, a bit edgily. 

John’s jaw was strung up rigidly, not liking the offence running through Alex’s tone at all. 

“It’s been two years, Alex, I didn’t know if you’d changed. Don’t turn this around on me!” 

Alexander’s eyes narrowed, but his gaze snapped over to Philip, who was mimicking his father’s expression, jaw jutting outwards and brow wrinkled as he chewed on his sleeve. 

“Let’s not discuss this now,” Alexander judged crisply. “Philip will get upset again, and neither of us want that at supper.” 

John exhaled, gesturing for Alex to go ahead of him. “Head downstairs, then. You first, you’re the one with the kid.”

Alexander’s mouth flexed, parting as if he wanted to say something, but he gave Philip one look and stopped himself. He walked downstairs without a single word in response. Over his father’s shoulder, Philip kept staring at John, mouth ajar, his miniature hand splayed open in the air. 

“Yo,” he babbled out, and John gave him a wide, proud grin. 

He held up his hand, thumb and forefinger joined in a seal of approval. 

“Yo. Perfect, Philip.” 

—

Supper started off… unpleasant, to say the least. 

Not on the surface, of course. Alex was much too practiced a speaker to allow his discomfort to show through. However, every time John laughed, either because of a cue or sheer politeness, their eyes tilted together for an instant before speeding away again, awkwardly aiming their gazes at the cutlery. 

If Eliza noticed something odd, she didn’t say anything. Then again, Philip was keeping her pretty occupied. 

“Philip - no, you can’t eat that!” 

Eliza scrabbled abruptly to wrench the napkin ring out of Philip’s steel fingers and detangling it from his teeth, a job that looked difficult to even attempt, never mind succeed at. Alex, seated beside Philip, tried to hold him still as Eliza finally managed to remove the offending metal circle from his mouth. 

John was suddenly grateful that he wasn’t around for the raising of his daughter. As soon as the feeling passed, it was replaced by deep guilt, and he clenched his jaw, hard. He should’ve been there for her, unwanted or not. If there wasn’t a war, he would’ve been, he was sure of it. 

Time for a change of subject. 

“Alex, I heard that you’ve teamed up with Madison,” he mentioned, and Alex nodded enthusiastically, chewing at an inhuman speed so he could speak. 

“Yes,” he confirmed, swallowing. “We share similar views on forming a strong central Congress and, going hand-in-hand with that, giving it the ability to use force on states who refuse to pay their due taxes. Rhode Island, in particular, is resisting us - and somehow doesn’t see why exactly it should contribute to its country! Even during the Newburgh revolt, it was utterly  _ useless,  _ and Philadelphia! We were forced to move because  _ the state decided we weren’t worth protecting _ ! A rowdy, rag-tag group of drunken soldiers held us hostage - supposedly the most powerful and influential people in the country! This is why Congress is only building back up respect now - we were forced to flee from state to state like a common thief,” Alexander spat out, stabbing his fork through a strip of chicken breast. He raised it up and waggled it about as he talked, missing the amusement in Eliza’s and John’s eyes. 

“Did you know that Thomas Jefferson fought for Congress to be dissolved and for  _ all of the power  _ to be returned to the states themselves? Have you ever heard of such a narrow-sighted, selfish concept? Divisions and individual feuds would breed like ignorance and bigotry, and I’m not even factoring in the question of how the hell we would communicate as a country!”

“Perhaps Thomas is putting faith in the states’ ability to govern themselves,” Eliza suggested. “After all, before the revolution, they weren’t as lawless as they are now. Without the taxes the British oppressed us with, the individual states will have a chance to flourish again.” 

“At the expense of slaves and the country’s servants,” John pointed out. “If we are to be one country, the government’s rules have to transcend the single states’ laws.” 

“New York is only building itself back up now, and we still have a massive war debt to repay, even disregarding the loan from Holland,” Eliza replied. “A formation of a new central government may only add to the chaos and expense.”

“Eliza, you are right to be dubious,” Alexander cut in, eyebrows furrowed. “But the swift formation of a new, stronger Congress will help the states bind together, and aid co-operation beyond borders. Washington is still a symbol of stability and peace, and he alone has the respect to make the rebellious states listen to reason. We need to take advantage of his status and reputation before it fades, and the war settles back into the recesses of the citizen’s mind. When time passes, people tend to forget the trauma and struggle, minimize it somehow.” 

“In addition,” John swooped in. “If another country was to declare war or threaten America, we would be easy to literally ‘divide and conquer,’ since we'd already be acting on each state’s best interests, helping each other would be an unlikely scenario, as well as the concept of combining our forces to raise one united army.” 

Eliza smiled at him. “Now I see properly why Alexander was so insistent on having you by his side. You do share remarkably similar ideals, and you argue them so elegantly, too.” 

John felt colour flush his cheeks with pulsating heat, and he couldn’t help himself from glancing over to Alexander, who was looking at him with a smile in his eyes. They locked gazes for a single beat, and the appreciative smile flowed to Alexander’s lips, too. 

Averting his stare, John didn’t dare to look at him any more. Eliza might wonder why his cheeks were only growing darker. 

“Nice change of subject, darling,” Alexander teased Eliza, raising an eyebrow as he leaned towards her. “Switching to flattery when you’re outnumbered? I expected more from my beautiful wife.”

John’s food turned to soggy, lumpy ash in his mouth, and he had to gulp down some more tea. 

“I’d rather keep work talk off the supper table,” Eliza answered, touching Alexander’s hand briefly. “It’s a time for more personal affairs, I think.” 

Alexander nodded, gaze edging back to John, back stiff. “I couldn’t agree more. Enough about our country. We haven’t seen each other in years, John, and your letters were sparse, to say the least. Tell us about your situation in the South.” 

“Well, it’s settling down now, in terms of the Loyalists, at least.” John reached for his teacup and discovered it was empty. “Obviously the objections to Congress are widespread, but I think public opinion should change with some time.” 

Passing John the teapot, Eliza nodded her agreement, gentle lips splitting in an encouraging smile. “How’s your family doing? Your father’s taking a break from the public eye after negotiating the treaty, isn’t he?” 

John nodded vaguely, concentrating on not letting his unsteady hand spill any drop over the side as he poured it. “He’s tired of sorting out other people’s sh - of neglecting his estate. He’s very conscious that a lot of his money reserves were emptied by the war, and is determined to build it back up again. I’m sure he misses his family and slaves too.” 

He couldn’t have a sliver of bitterness sliding into his voice at the last part, and he put down the teapot without making eye contact with either of them. 

“I presume you’re making no progress on convincing him to free his slaves?” Eliza asked softly. “That’s a shame.” 

“No, his guilt doesn’t outweigh his desire for profit,” John stated shortly. “The most I can do is bargain with him so I may inherit more than forty Negros.” 

“How many does he have?” Alexander questioned. 

“Last time I asked, the rough number was around four hundred,” John responded, his expression darkening, jabbing at his potatoes menacingly. “He refuses to free a single one. I can barely even ensure good conditions for them.” 

Alexander released a low whistle. “That’s quite a lot of slaves.” 

“Biggest slave owner in the South,” John muttered back. “I’m real proud of him. As he is of me.” 

Eliza, perhaps sensing the need for an urgent change of topic, quickly began asking John about his aims in New York. John gave her an outline - practice law, study science, perhaps medicine, and get his own place as soon as possible. Alexander was nodding until John mentioned his urgency to find other accommodation, his unwillingness to take advantage of their hospitality for any longer than he had to.

“But John, it’s no trouble,” Eliza reassured him, reaching across and touching his hand warmly. “You’re no trouble. Don’t worry about a thing, the spare room was only collecting dust up there in any case. Angelica can only make the tedious trip from London every so often, and her namesake isn’t here quite yet,” she smiled, patting her living belly. 

“Stay as long as you wish,” Alexander inputted quickly. “Even renting a room can be very costly at this time of year, and in addition to your tuition costs it could be very stressful.” 

John picked at his carrots. “I’ll manage. I can start a law practice as I study, and if I get a building, it can double up as my business and my house.”

Alexander looked at him sharply, warningly. “I wouldn’t advise that. You need to separate out work and home life.”

“My family isn’t here,” John replied shortly. 

“That doesn’t mean that a man doesn’t need space to himself, without any distractions or reminders of his work day,” Alexander insisted. 

“I’ll section off parts of the house,” John answered. “I’ll sort it out.”

Alexander still appeared doubtful and would’ve probably pressed John further about it if Eliza hadn’t smoothly intervened with another topic change, this time regarding John’s scientific interests.

The rest of supper was spent talking about trivial things, and John desperately trying to avoid Alexander’s eyes. 

\--

“Really?” Eliza arched an eyebrow, squinting down at the chessboard, considering John’s latest move. “Rook right in front of my pawn? What are you trying to do, John Laurens?”

John laughed, the fireplace’s glow warming along his entire right side. “You've been married to Alexander too long. I'm not trying to pull anything.”

“I don't believe you. And, it's not as if Alexander has the patience for chess in the first place,” Eliza commented, choosing not to take the bait and instead sacrificing her bishop, a move that made John whistle aloud. 

“What's that supposed to do?” 

“I don't think you understand the concept of disarming your opponent in chess,” Eliza chuckled, smiling deceivingly innocently at John, who didn't buy it for an instant.  

“I don’t trust you,” John told her, musing over the board. “I feel like you’re trying to unbalance me.” 

“Maybe, and maybe not,” was Eliza’s only answer, and John hissed out through his teeth in frustration. 

An hour later, Eliza was four moves away from checkmate, and John had no fucking idea how she’d done it. Sure, he was a little out of practice from not playing chess since he was eleven, and Eliza might play regularly with her friends, but….still. It was a little humbling. 

As he desperately tried to work out an escape route to victory, he heard footfalls outside the door, and his focus instantly wavered, knowing already who it would be. 

Alex strode in, eyes crinkling up warmly at the sight. He was trailed by Philip, who immediately waddled over to his mother. Eliza scooped him up and settled him in her lap, smoothing down his little blonde tufts of hair carefully. It crossed John’s mind that he’d missed all the years of caring for his own daughter like that, and he dropped his gaze. 

“May I watch?” Alexander asked, pulling over a stool for himself. 

Eliza looked over at John, who nodded, before answering. “Of course. You might want to help John out a bit, though. Just a few hints here and there. There’s ways to turn this around still.” 

Alexander grinned, moving more to John’s side, his knee just brushing against John’s as he weighed up the board. “Are you sure, Eliza? Dear Lord John, what are you doing?” 

“If you can’t figure a way out of this yourself, don’t judge me,” John answered stiffly, wishing he would shift his knee away. 

As if to inflame him, Alexander pressed his shoulder closely to his, getting a better view of the board.  A metallic aroma curled like smoke off of his clothes, woven within his constant earthy smell of freshly-bound books, and John had to consciously stop himself from curving his body towards him, to lean his cheek against his shoulder, be as near as possible to him. 

“Why don’t you move your rook there?” Alexander said suddenly, gesturing, and John almost got startled, his attention having long diverted from the game. 

“Ah… yeah,” he murmured, trying to concentrate. “Except -” 

He broke off, seeing Eliza gazing at them with raised eyebrows. 

“No, please keep discussing your strategy out loud,” she chuckled, and John watched as Philip responded to her smile, reaching up to her face with wondering hands. 

“Hey, Philip,” he addressed him, and Eliza directed Philip’s clear, wide eyes towards him. “What do you think we should do?”

Philip babbled out a few words John didn’t catch, and Alexander leaned forwards, cupping his hand around his ear. 

“Hold on, I can translate this. What was that, Philip? He should do what? Good advice!”

Alexander returned to his position, grasping onto John’s arm and pulling him down so his ear was level to his mouth. 

“Move your bishop to just in front of her knight, then capture her pawn with your rook,” Alexander whispered into his ear, and John couldn’t remember any of it. 

“Say that again.”

Alexander let out a frustrated huff, pulling back a moment to swipe away any furls of hair that had fallen over John’s ear, dragging it back behind it before repeating himself. 

“Do you have it this time?”

It took John a second to recover from the fleeting warmth of Alexander’s deft fingertips. 

“Yeah, thanks, but she could easily counter that, and she will.”

“I may decide to show mercy,” Eliza teased, bouncing Philip on her knee. “You never know.” 

“I don’t believe you,” John muttered, eying her upturned lips distrustfully. “I think you’ll still find a way to crush me.” 

“Us,” Alexander amended. “We’re a team now, but only if we win. If we lose, it’s all on you, I’m afraid. I came in too late to make much of a difference, after all.”

“Have you been hanging out with Aaron lately? I think you’ve picked up his expertise on dodging responsibility,” John said dryly, selecting his king and moving him one square over to temporary safety. 

Alexander gave a huffy breath, hitting his shoulder sharply into John’s. “Never compare me to Burr ever again. And you just lost the game.” 

John blinked, resurveying the board in front of him. It took him a second. 

“Fu -“

One sharp glance from Eliza made John stall, but he finished the curse in his mind, explicitly referring to Alexander, several times. He bowed over, head in his hands, as Eliza reached over and dealt the final blow. 

“Checkmate,” Eliza said softly. 

“Ugh,” John groaned out. “This is your fault, Alex.”

“Don’t blame me for your shit game,” Alexander chuckled back, rubbing John’s bent-over back. “It’s not my fault if you can’t even put up a good fight against Eliza. I’m not blaming you for losing to her, because I’d be thoroughly impressed if you won, but even you have to admit it was a quick game. Now, if you had taken my counsel, it might’ve been a more drawn-out affair.” 

“Well, why don’t you play by yourself then, if you’re such an expert?” John snapped out, a lot more viciously than he’d intended. 

Alexander blinked and withdrew his hand, confusion draining his face of any expression for a heartbeat. Lifting his gaze, John saw Eliza’s shocked, ajar mouth, and Philip’s face, rapidly crinkling up. 

The following silence heaved and pressed and pounded against his ears. 

John stood up. 

“Sorry,” he said shortly. “I think I’m still a bit fatigued from my journey. I’m going to retire for the night, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Goodnight.” 

He began briskly walking towards the door, hearing Alexander scramble to his feet behind him. “Wait, John, we can talk -“

The only answer Alex received was the door lock slotting into place with a solid click. 

“Strange,” Eliza commented, looking with concern at the closed door, eyes creased in confusion. “He didn’t appear very tired, did he? He seemed just fine until the end of the game. He wouldn’t throw a strop because he lost, surely?” 

“No,” Alex told her, staring at the door. “John wouldn’t be offended over a mere chess game. He’s acting like this because of another reason. I think he wishes to avoid me.” 

“Alexander, are you sure you’re not being paranoid? He did come to stay with us, remember. Why on earth would he want to avoid you?” 

Alexander paused. 

“I don’t know.” 

Turning around, he offered Eliza a reassuring smile, sitting down in John’s place. “I’ll talk to him later and attempt to find out his issue. In the meantime, I think I may have time for a quick game of chess.” 

Eliza beamed at him. “I’m so glad to hear that.” 

—

John seemed to be spending a lot of time up in his room lately, and he’d only been here a day. 

His quill snapped between his fingers before he could regulate his emotions, and ink dripped onto his sweaty palm.

“Fuck,” John breathed out, for more reason than the mutilated quill. Sighing deeply, he reached into his pockets for a handkerchief, rubbing off as much of  the dark stain as he possibly could. 

It was a stubborn mark, but John was even more stubborn. 

After a few minutes of low, furious cursing, he managed to shift most of the ink, his skin left raw and scathing. John swivelled in his chair and scrunched up the handkerchief into a tightly-knotted ball, aiming it for the washing-pile across the room. 

John hissed as it landed just short, fluttering down to the floor to crumple up in a pathetic lump. 

He heard the door open, and turned around just in time to see Alexander flattened back against the door, clicking it shut with the weight of his body. 

“Thanks for knocking,” John murmured, but Alex chose to bypass his remark. 

“John, what's wrong? You've been acting strange and distant around me all evening. And don't you even attempt to tell me it's because of the trip, because you were your usual self with Eliza and Philip.” 

His eyes were earnest, searching John’s expression for any hint, any sort of non-verbal answer. John didn't give him any, dulling his features and rotating away from him, tidying the stationary on his desk.

“I'm not acting strange around you. What are you talking about? Have you been getting enough sleep lately?” 

“Don't even try to play it off as me overthinking, Eliza’s been making me sleep at least four hours a night,” Alexander replied, undeterred, striding towards John. “First you didn't want to talk when you arrived, and then during dinner you were standoffish, and then at the end of chess you were extremely bad-natured - that isn’t like you.” Alexander paused, both his movements and his words, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “You weren't there, John, I could tell. You weren't yourself. What's going on?” 

John’s fingers caught around a scroll of paper and clenched before he could restrain himself, crumpling it up into sweaty folds. “You know why I'm acting like this,” he told him quietly, still staring at the desktop, covered with ink and quills and wax, all the things that held him together. 

Out of the corner of John’s eye, Alexander’s lip vanished underneath his front teeth, dry skin peeling away underneath the enamel. 

“It was a long time ago,” Alexander said, blankly, as if he was reading out an article from the newspaper. “I didn't think it would affect us now.” 

John couldn't help himself twisting around to face him, his eyes dark as he stood up, causing their chests to be inches apart. “Alex, did you ever seriously think that for one moment? You told me you loved me. Do you think I could just forget that?” 

“I do love you!” Alexander protested, and his hands, writhing around each other in damp knots, pleaded with John. “I...meant what I said, back then. It was all true, I swear to you.” 

His hands sought out John’s, and squeezed much too tightly, too rigidly. Gritting his teeth, John unclasped their hands, pulling his away with a sharp back step, spitting out a single word. “‘Was’?” 

“Now, now it's different, the situation is different, even though I still feel the same - but I can't - “ he fumbled with his tongue, shaking his head. “John, why did you come here?” Alexander asked, helplessness running through his voice. “What do you want from me? What would you have me do?” 

What you can't do and can't give me, John wanted to answer. Be selfish. Let me be selfish and abandon her. Fuck your career. Fuck your ideals, fuck everything you've ever worked for and built up from beyond nothing. Just be with me. 

John inhaled. He could never ask that of Alex. He wouldn't. Alexander was happy here, happy with his wife, child and political position. 

Maybe it'd be enough if John stayed by his side, as a friend. For both of them. 

Nobody would be satisfied, but it might be good enough, if John could bear to watch Eliza kiss him like that, or see his answering smile. 

She really was a beautiful person. 

John opened his mouth, and a lie crawled out, like filthy mud over his lips.

“I don't want anything from you, just company.”

“Fine. Then we’ll talk.” Alexander paused. “And nothing more.” 

John hesitated, the polite refusal sticking to his tongue. He had bitterly missed Alexander, his free flowing chatter, for years now. Shoving aside the part of him that screamed how risky that was, letting him back in, John faced him and allowed his face to show what he was feeling. He smiled widely, gratefully. 

“Talking sounds great.” 

Alexander cracked a relieved smile too, and flopped forwards onto John’s bed. 

“So where do we start?” 

\--

It was five am when Alex kissed him. 

John was speaking, both of them cross-legged on the bed, ignoring their lethargic eyes in favour of indulging their alight minds. His brain always seemed to clank along better when Alexander was with him, and so he was chattering on about one battle with none of his usual formal restraints. He was gesturing with his hands softly, and every so often Alex’s eyes drifted downwards to follow the slow movement.  

“-and so I dragged out their leader, demanding that they forfeit the fight. One man cried out against it, and all of the Loyalists began to back him up, despite how their leader was shaking, right in front of them. He wasn't fit to lead - I don't know how he inspired so much loyalty, but then I ran a blade through his chest in front of all of his troops. They surrendered,” John explained, reaching the end of his breath. 

Alexander, his hand propped against his cheek, smiled at him. “You're quite a man, John Laurens.”

John laughed, eyes like crescents of the moon. “If only I had your skill with the quill as well as my expertise with the sword. Then I might call myself a well-rounded man, not just a soldier.” 

“Then by that logic I can't call myself a well-rounded man either - I'm quite a terrible shot,” Alexander confessed, to which John nodded, agreeing heartily. 

“You couldn't hit a horse cart at twenty yards.” 

“Hey!” Alexander huffed out, indignant. “If I was wearing my glasses I could, I promise you.” 

As childish as it was, John stuck out his tongue at him. “Of course, Alex. Then prove it tomorrow, dawn. I'll challenge the cart to a duel for you, try to negotiate a peace-” 

“Oh, shut up!” Alexander, holding back a grin, shoved at John’s shoulders, who didn't resist and fell into his back, chuckling to himself. 

He felt the mattress bow beneath him as Alexander scrambled past him to the edge of the bed, standing up and making his way over to the windows to draw the curtains closed. 

“John?” 

Tiredness was beginning to kick in, but John managed to formulate a response. 

“Mm?” 

“I think we may have done it again.” 

John's heart almost stopped in place, like a watch clattering to the floor. Rolling over so his legs were over the side of the bed, he sat up, taking in Alexander’s silhouette against the window, motionless. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, his saliva thick in his mouth. 

“It's almost dawn,” Alexander told him, twisting around to beckon him up beside him. “Come see. It's spectacular when the sky is clear, which it is.” 

John held in a sigh of relief, getting to his feet and padding over to join Alexander at the window. 

“Oh, that's something…” 

“It is something, isn't it?” Alexander agreed quietly, one hand on the bunched-up curtain and one shoulder to John’s slightly higher one. “Most times I'm so absorbed in my work that I miss it, but if I remember, I always like watching it. It's different every time. Looks like it's going to put on a decent show this time.” 

John nodded, his heart throbbing in his throat. 

There were not many things, or people, in life that reminded him of Alexander. He was inimitable, a whirlwind of words and relentless passion nothing or nobody could come near to touching. 

The slow spread of light across the humped countryside didn't remind him of Alexander's tireless fire. It only served to bring to mind another aspect of Alexander, the one that only emerged after deep discussion. The one who massaged John’s hands out of habit while sunk in thought, silently drowning in his own skull, but still working, always working and sorting and deciding and thinking, never stopping, only slowing. 

The sky was split into a faded pink, melding into a light orange, a yellow tinge always following, always running through the colours already there, strengthening with every second passing. 

The sun’s light never moved backwards, and neither did Alexander. 

The part of his life with John in it was over. Why did John think he'd ever want to go back and reclaim him? 

John’s jaw tightened, and Alex's eyes were no longer watching the sunrise. It didn't matter. To him, the sunrise was only the second most beautiful thing in sight. 

And in that same yellow dawn sunlight, Alex raised a hand. He touched John’s illuminated cheek, thumb floating reverently over the pastel-washed freckles, healing war wounds, and the tiny scars flecked a bright white into his skin. His eyelids lowered, and he swayed forwards, chest warm against John’s. 

And even though blistering guilt was searing through every cowardly bone in his body, John didn't stop - couldn't stop - his ragged lips from pressing to his. Even though Eliza was always at the forefront of John’s mind, even though the shame was scorching him despite cool hands linked through his, and John kissed him back, damning himself and Alexander. 

\-------

John tried to justify his actions to himself, later. 

For example, he thought, wrapped in the covers with Alexander’s legs laced through his. We didn't have sex. That's something. 

The fact sent a flash of regret through him, but he packed it away and shoved it as far back into his mind as it could go. He’d never bothered much with sex after he’d tried it out the first time - more to appease his father than anything else, prove his concerns wrong - but he wouldn’t mind sleeping with Alex, John was sure of it. 

Airily sweeping a strand of Alex’s hair away from his utterly slack face, John attempted to find another excuse as to why this wasn't so unhonourable. 

Because it felt right. That was one that counted, wasn't it? It was too easy, too damn simple to fall back into Alexander's bright eyes, into his arms, his bed, and back in love with him. 

If one night was all it took, John supposed that he never really fell out of love with him. 

He exhaled deeply, eyes tracing over Alexander’s slumbering face, his lips split apart just a shred, the redness from their ardent kissing long gone.  

He knew why he came here, created a limp excuse for himself and Alexander to accept, the temptation too much for either of them. They always rushed recklessly into things, didn't they? Battles, speeches, marriage, challenges, and love. 

No, John shouldn't have come here. 

With a dismal weight sinking its hooks into his chest, ripping his flesh open, John lay back down in the sheets, in the bloody pool of mistakes, and tried to convince himself to leave. He reached out a hand. 

Alexander's skin was so soft. 

\----

Alexander stirred a bit when John slipped out of the bed, detangling himself from the sheets and Alex. He didn't wake, however, and John released a breath of relief, envious of how his thoughts never seemed to rouse him from sleep. Likely from pure exhaustion, but still. John could never get a full night’s rest, not anymore. His troubles wouldn't slumber, and so neither could he. 

The noise of the household told him that the servants must be up - how long had he slept? Two, three hours? After Alex kissed him, they hadn't really talked much, and John felt like he had just woken from a night of boozing - Alexander had alcohol-infused kisses, so it seemed. 

John had a hangover of a different sort as he made his way over to the wardrobe, careful not to wake Alexander. Meeting Eliza yesterday morning hadn't been too bad - the memories of him and Alexander's affair were long worn out, still vivid in John’s memory but far away, distant. 

This was fresh, gritty, exposed. 

John held in a sigh, slipping his shirt from yesterday over his head, trying not to cast his gaze over at Alex. He shoved down the desire to lean over the bed and kiss him into consciousness - if the servants were awake, that means that Alexander's family was too, more than likely. 

Was it weird to have Alexander in his bed? Wouldn't Eliza be wondering where he was or was she used to it? 

Finishing dressing himself, John loitered by the bedside, debating on whether to rouse Alex or not. He was probably in dire need of sleep, so John backed off, shutting the door as silently as humanly possible behind him. 

\----

“Did you sleep well?” Eliza asked, then winked at John. “I doubt it - if you got him to shut up it would've been a miracle.” 

The picture of Alexander's silence drifted into John’s head, accompanied by the keen memory of how nice his heavy lips caressing his jawline felt. 

“Yeah,” he responded, and laughed weakly. “He only shut up when he was asleep.” 

Eliza arched an eyebrow. “And that's even harder to get him to do. You've impressed me, John Laurens.” 

“Stop speaking about me as if I'm not in the room,” Alexander cut in, reaching over the table to grab a slice of toast.

Eliza lightly slapped his hand away. “Guests eat first in this house, Alexander.” 

“John doesn't count!” Alexander protested heatedly, narrowing his eyes at John, but Eliza only shook her head. 

“John is an invited guest, no matter how close you two are.” 

“You heard her, Alex. Continue to starve,” Laurens grinned widely, deliberately playing around with his food. 

Alexander groaned. “Stop fucking around John, I'm dying from starvation here.” 

“Language,” Eliza chided. “I hope you don't use that in front of Philip.” 

“Angelica curses worse than me,” Alexander pointed out, and Eliza tilted her head in acknowledgement. “She does, but do you see her using it needlessly around guests? She knows when to act like a civilised person.” 

“I knew Alexander when he was nineteen, I don't think anything he does or says can shock or offend me at this stage,” John joked, finally taking a bite of toast. 

Alexander cocked an eyebrow at him as he chewed away on his breakfast, angling his fork at him, swallowing quickly so he could speak. 

“I disagree,” Alexander retorted back, with still some food in his mouth, but he was never patient when he had something to say. “At nineteen I was reckless, impulsive, and I've matured since then.”

It was entertaining, really, how easily him and Alexander could pretend they were only friends. How simple it was to push aside the need to reach across the table and touch Alexander's hand. He was well-practiced at this stage, but never practiced enough to erase the desire completely. 

“If you were really mature, you wouldn't feel the need to defend your maturity,” John pointed out, unable to help smirking across at him. He'd missed banter like this. 

If only it was under more open circumstances. 

Alexander never gave any indication of awkwardness or discomfort. 

“Alexander, dare I hope that you got more than two hours of sleep?” 

Alexander laughed. “Would you believe it if I said that I indulged in four?” 

He answered all of Eliza’s questions with the ease of a partial truth, all the time not even bothering to avoid John’s eyes. 

In fact, he blatantly began arguments. 

“All I’m saying is that if we are opting for an economically healthy country we  _ need _ the Tories to stay here, and that means we have to call to an end to the discrimination against them if we want a tolerant and united country.” 

John shook his head. “We can learn to manage without their money. The unrest will not settle down - shit, people are already making plans for Evacuation Day, and that’s over two months away.” 

“The evacuation of Tories is not something to be celebrated!” Alexander shot back. “Have you studied the logistics of exactly how much of our employment and revenue comes from merchants and businessmen who stayed in fear of losing everything? It’s not their fault that they were unwilling to abandon their livelihood for war.” 

John paused. “This is the first time I’ve seen you put the importance of owning property over ideals.” 

Alexander’s lips bunched up. “But this isn’t the first time you’ve been excessively idealistic.” 

John’s lips stretched taut over his teeth. “ _ I’m  _ being excessively idealistic? You-“

“Personal attacks are not the way to discuss things,” Eliza cut in firmly, and both John and Alex glanced away. 

Alexander picked at his napkin, nails shredding the edges. “I know that.” 

“Then let’s keep unwarranted comments on character out of it, shall we?” Eliza continued mildly, leaning over to John with the teapot handle cradled in her palms. “Do you want some more tea, John?” 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

John held out his cup, eyes fixed on the spout of the teapot.

“Did you make up whatever quarrel you two had yesterday?” Eliza asked lightly, pouring John his tea. 

“Yes,” John told her edgily, and luckily whatever unease came through on his voice was covered up by Alexander immediately following up with , “Of course. We’re not immature children.” 

“We can discuss things like adults,” John agreed, backing him up. 

“I wasn’t accusing you of being childish,” Eliza said mildly, settling back into her seat. Her bump brushed off the table edge, and John winced, suddenly feeling a whole lot guiltier. He should’ve poured his own fucking tea. “It’s just because you both seem a lot more comfortable around each other now.” 

John swallowed dryly, like there was a lump of parchment stuffed into his throat. 

“I suppose it just took us a day or two to reconnect,” Alexander theorised, helping himself to a hefty portion of sausages. 

“Two years is a long time to be apart,” Eliza agreed, sympathy running through her voice.

She started to reach for the butter, rising from her chair, and John hopped to his feet. “Eliza, it’s fine. Let me. You’re pregnant and busy creating a new life, so take it easy.” 

“I can fetch the butter on my own, at least. I’m not that helpless yet,” Eliza argued back lightly, but John swiftly passed her the butter before she could reach for it. “Regardless, thank you, John.” 

John gave her a assuring smile as he sat back down, guilt replacing his blood with tar. “It’s no problem, Eliza. It’s the least I can do for you allowing me to stay here.” 

Eliza clicked her tongue, dipping her knife into the butter. “There you go again, as if it isn’t a pleasure to have you around.” 

John laughed lightly. “If I didn’t know Alex I would say that you’re the flatterer of the Hamiltons. I’m just doing what a decent and proper guest should.” 

“I do learn quite a bit about the skill of flattery from her,” Alexander admitted. “On occasion, I find myself being a bit too blunt, and I try to imitate her temperament.” 

John stared disbelievingly at him for a second. “I can safely bet that that almost never works.” 

“Only when Eliza isn’t with me,” Alexander smiled, the clear night sky contained in his eyes as he gazed at her. John chewed on a boiled egg, and it dissipated like tasteless powder beneath his teeth. 

Eliza leaned into him, resting her head against the side of his in a gesture of gratitude. “You’re improving, Alexander. Someday you’ll master your rash temper.” 

“With your faith in me, it’ll be that much easier,” Alexander promised, squeezing her hand. 

John’s remaining egg piece wobbled on his spoon, and he stared hard at it, trying to focus on it and not the other scene right in front of him. 

As Eliza turned her head with a smile, Alexander’s eyes flickered to John’s for less than a second, a mere beat of a bee’s wings, and then Eliza pressed her lips to his softly. Swallowing dryly, John’s spoon fell back down onto his plate with a clatter neither Eliza or Alexander seemed to hear. It was only a chaste peck on the lips, but when they parted and Alex opened his eyes again, he avoided John’s eyes. 

John looked down at his abandoned egg, lips tight. 

“Speaking of reckless tempers,” Eliza mentioned, focusing back on John. “Alexander has told me a lot about the risks you took during the war. It almost sounds like you had a death wish.”

She chuckled airily, and John managed to straighten out his expression. “Yeah. It seemed like I did.”

Alexander glanced over at him, his hands massaging each other, strained and jerkily. “I’m grateful that you survived, John.” 

John nodded stiffly, then stood up abruptly. “Pardon my exit, but I really have to go and get my documents in order in time to apply to King’s College. I will see you both later, and thank you for the breakfast.” 

“It’s no bother, John. We’ll see you in the afternoon, and I hope everything goes smoothly at the college,” Eliza wished, and John smiled thinly back. 

“Thanks, Eliza.” 

“Come by my study when you’re leaving,” was all that Alexander said, and John nodded. Anything to be out of here faster. 

He quickly thanked a servant on the way out, and attempted not to sick back up his food while he clambered up to his room. 

\---

“What do you need from me?” John asked flatly, walking into Alexander’s study. 

Alexander, bent over his desk, halted his quill immediately, ink stilling on the page, a blotch spreading from the tip. He cleared his throat, straightening up and rotating around on his chair to face John with weary eyes. 

“I don’t want to -” he started, then stopped, shaking his head, strands of brown hair wavering across his face. He raised a palm and pushed them back, despite both of them knowing they’d only fall right back down in a few minutes. “We ought to discuss some things.”

John crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t have time. I need to get this over with.”

Heaving a sigh, Alexander stood, approaching John with a single, deliberate step. “Surely you have some time to spare before you leave.”

His hands lifted a little, wavering in the air a few inches from John’s, but ultimately dropped back to his side. 

“I need to go and enroll in King’s College as soon as possible,” John told him, adjusting his cuffs so they rested underneath his jacket. “The new year starts in a month, but with any luck, they’ll take me in. I certainly doubt my chosen course will be without vacancies. I can bring my father’s influence into this, too, if there’s any complications - which I hope there won’t be, but if there is, I could be there a while.”

Alexander’s mouth downturned, but he nodded understandingly nonetheless. “When will you be back? Should we prepare lunch for you?”

“Nah, don't need it. I'll get something out,” John answered, flashing him a smile. “Thanks, anyway.” 

“Speaking of going out,” Alexander mentioned, rubbing at the ink stains on his hands. “I want to show you some great new bars that have opened up in the meantime - a few ones a bit more age appropriate too, as much as I wish we could blend into the youngsters in the bars we used to go to, but you're far too old. You would stick out a whole mile.” 

“I'm barely two years older than you, so you can quit running your mouth,” John retorted back. “You'd probably get into a fight with one of the extreme Patriots within the first two minutes. More than likely me.” 

“We've spoken about this!” Alexander said, a more serious undercurrent to his teasing tone. “I have put forward my reasoning and you have put forward yours-”

“As much as I would love to stay here and debate the future of our nation with you, I have business to deal with, and if all goes well, a path of study secured,” John shot back, his hand clasping around the doorknob. “I'll see you later, Alex.” 

Alexander grimaced, yet again sweeping back the flyaway strands from his face. 

“Goodbye, John.” 

John nodded at him, knowing he wasn’t satisfied with his response, and left. 

—-

John scrawled his name at the end of the agreement, dotting it firmly after as usual. Handing it back to the secretary with a smile, John turned back around with a refreshed sigh, glad that registration was done with. 

His eyes scanned the pillared entrance, watching as students - mostly a few years younger than him, but there were a good few mid-twenties milling by the two-tiered fountain, adorned on top with a stone fish spilling water from its gaping mouth. Tasteful. 

His heels tapped sharply against the stone floor as he headed towards the unnecessarily large doorway - two man’s heights high, at least - and John kept glancing around, wondering if he’d be studying with anyone he saw today. 

The latest chattering group of students flooding through the door, John wove through them deftly, and felt a hand grasp his wrist. 

“John?” 

John instinctively jerked away, bashing into another person before recognising the rich, calm voice. 

“Aaron?” 

Burr appeared from the thick of the crowd a few seconds later, smoothly excusing himself as he ducked through, reaching where John had waited, a space next to the pillar apart from the bustle. He gave John a wide smile, offering his hand. 

“Apologies for startling you. I didn’t know if you’d hear me if I called,” he explained as John accepted his hand, shaking it firmly. 

“It’s fine, I can be a bit jumpy nowadays,” John dismissed him, smiling back. “What are you doing here?”

Burr dropped the handshake, but not the smile. “I’m here to check out the opportunities for Theodosia. I’d like her to have the best education she can get. What’s your business with King’s College?” 

“I’ve decided to study medicine,” John told him. “How old is she?”

“Just two.” Burr smiled proudly, subtle dimples impressing on his cheeks, and John knew it was a genuine smile. 

“And you’re already checking out college?”

“She’s an intelligent girl. Her mother is already teaching her how to read.” 

John’s eyebrows raised. “Sounds like you’re raising a genius of your own, then. Philip’s the same age, and Alex already has unbelievably high expectations of him.” 

“Why does that not surprise me?” 

“It’ll be interesting to watch them go head to head,” John commented, and Burr shook his head. 

“I keenly hope that they won’t choose the same path. There’s enough rivalry between Alexander and I as there is, without bringing the next generation into it.”  

“Ah, but maybe there’s too much rivalry there to let it die,” John suggested, and Aaron’s eyebrows rose.

“I see you’re as fleet with your words as ever.”

“A skill I learned from you,” John appraised, half-smiling at Burr. “Nobody can turn the meaning of words around and back into themselves quite as fluidly as you.” 

“Have you learned the quality of flattery from me, too?” Burr laughed out, trying to play off the compliment but his ears were reddened. “Pray that I’ll be as good a teacher to Theodosia as I was to you.” 

“I have no doubt of it,” John confirmed. “You’ll be a wonderful father to her.” 

“I appreciate that, John,” Burr told him, a little too gravely. “In any case, how long are you planning to stay with the Hamiltons?” 

“Two months, at most. I just need enough time to get my law firm up and running. Once I have a reliable income, I’ll find a place as fast as possible.” 

“You’re more than welcome to work at mine, if you wish,” Aaron offered. “Just until you make some contacts and find your foothold on the city.” 

“Thanks,” John answered with a grateful smile. “I’ll keep your generosity in mind.” 

Burr paused, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “It’s none of my business, but I’d advise for you to move out as soon as possible. Eliza is far from blind, and if I could see something between you and Alexander…” 

“We know!” John snapped out suddenly, then reined himself in, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Aaron. I know you’re right, and we’re being careful. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Burr regarded him calmly for a second, then gave a slow nod. “Good. I don’t want to see the fallout if it was realised, either by Eliza or someone else. Maybe both of you are connected enough to avoid the gallows, but in all aspects except literally, you two would be crucified.”

John’s eyes narrowed, glaring at the concrete in front of Burr’s feet. “I don’t need reminding of our shitty situation, Aaron.” 

“It’s just that both of you are extremely rash, so temper yourself, then him, before anything slips,” Burr advised, but it only served to irritate John further. 

“We can regulate ourselves and our speech just fine,” he told him, annoyance seeping into his voice. “We’re not nineteen anymore, Burr.” 

“And yet you snapped at me hardly a minute ago,” Burr observed, and John’s lips pursed, his face souring. 

“It’s you,” he said shortly. “I wouldn’t be so careless around a stranger.” 

Aaron only looked at him. “Have you forgotten that I too fought alongside you for years? You did everything possible to be killed by strangers. It’s a miracle that you’re here at all, so don’t throw that blessing away. Be patient, John.” 

“I’ve been fucking patient, and nothing has changed,” was John’s pissy reply, his words low and clipped. “I can’t do anything anyway.” 

“Maybe that’s how you see things, but I doubt Alexander has such an objective take on it. He’s used to getting everything he wants, and he doesn’t back down until he’s claimed it for his own.” 

John looked at Burr, taking in his tightened jaw, disguised behind an agreeable, concerned smile. 

“You think that Alex does get everything he wants, but he hasn’t, and won’t. He’s only gotten everything you wanted. He knows failure as well as I do.” 

Burr regarded him with a thoughtful gaze. “Does he? You’ve grown up in circumstances where everything you wanted was overruled by your father’s wishes. You’ve always yielded to him throughout your childhood -“ 

“I fled London to join the war,” John cut in harshly. “I raised a battalion of Negros to fight alongside white men. Neither of which he approved of. I know myself, and I know Alex, too. I know you’re trying to make the point that he’s less likely to give up because he’s achieved everything by doing the exact opposite to me. I even gave up in battles. Hell, I welcomed death at times with a bare chest and an unarmed body. I shouldn’t have lived, but I did. And I’m not going to waste that chance.” 

“You know nearly everything of what I was going to say,” Burr conceded. “May I ask a question?” 

“Sure.”

“What if Alexander was willing to sacrifice his career and family for you?” 

John stared at him blankly. “That would never happen.” 

“I agree. It’s idealistic to the point of idiocy, but I’ve never come across more idiotically stubborn idealists than you two.”

“Thanks,” John said dryly. “I always love your genuine compliments.” 

“So?”

“So what?”

“So what if?” 

“I still wouldn’t let him,” John told him. “Happy now?” 

Aaron waited a second. “Think about it. What you would really do.”

John wrung his hands together, his teeth shredding the old skin from his lips. He didn’t want to think about it. Not again. 

“I know it would be a terrible decision, but...” John breathed out. “By God, if Alex was willing to risk everything…”

John left the sentence unfinished, unwilling to forage through another painful ‘if.’ 

“He has a family,” Burr stated, brutal and short. 

John’s eyes creased up to a dangerous degree, a sheen glossing over his hazel eyes. “Yeah. He really loves them, Aaron. He treasures his wife and son more than I’ve ever seen him treasure anything. Who am I to come between them?” 

Burr’s hand found his shoulder and squeezed it hard as John struggled to keep control of his tears, breaths coming out in sudden starts and gasps. 

“Come on,” Burr said to him quietly, steering him away from the busy entrance. “I know a teahouse not far from here that not many people know. It’ll be more or less private, and there we can catch up properly.” 

It didn’t take John to grasp a hold of himself, to ignore how his ribcage was cracking, fracturing, puncturing his lungs. He took a deep breath, and Burr glanced across to him, patting his back. 

“That was quick.” 

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” was John’s short response, despite his voice fluctuations. 

He inhaled fully, noticing how now they were winding through the side-streets, and with every corner they rounded less and less people were to be seen. 

“How did you find this place?” John queried in amazement as they stopped outside of a surprisingly upscale building. 

“I like to wander,” Burr answered, and gestured to the door. “After you.”

“How about the man not barely holding in tears steps through first?” John joked weakly, pushing Burr forwards. “I’m not that emotionally fragile that you have to treat me like a lady.”

Burr raised an eyebrow. “You’re far more emotional than any woman I know, so you’re not really in a position to make sexist jokes.” 

“That was the joke, Aaron - the hypocrisy of it,” John defended himself, all the while slowly inching Burr further towards the door. “Get in the fucking door already, you righteous bastard.” 

Chuckling, Burr relented, and stepped into the tea house. He held the door open for John, and John halted. 

“If I go in there, promise me we won’t talk about Alex and me.”

Burr surveyed him for a moment, and then nodded, understanding. “As the master of avoiding certain topics, I promise.” 

John’s breath was released from his lungs as a swell of relief, and he walked through the doorway with a wobbly smile. 

—

The end of John’s quill drooped, and he sighed heavily, stretching up, lengthening his strained back with a soft crack of bone. His eyes were weary from the recently-lit candlelight, his fingers cramping up from his heavy, relentless writing. He stared at his latest essay draft for a moment, then shook his fog-stuffed head. 

Fuck it. He’d been confined to this desk all afternoon since he’d gotten back, he wanted to go out and meet people, have an argument, possibly get hammered. 

Hadn’t Alexander mentioned something about him wanting to show him some bars? 

Standing up, John decided that sounded like a solid plan. Better than staying in and passing out at the desk, anyway. He needed to go out and get a better feel for the city - he knew well how drastically London changed in the night hours, and was curious to how New York altered since he was last here. 

He made his way into the hallway, first trying Alexander’s study, then his room - both vacant. 

Maybe he was working today? John wondered as he walked down the stairs, casting an eye about for him. 

A Negro servant passed him by, and the concept of them being lower-class still made him uncomfortable, despite Alexander’s reassurances. He smiled at them, and they smiled back, easing John’s nerves somewhat. Most slaves were too terrified and confused to react when a white person showed them any sort of warmth. 

Heading through the dining room, John reached the kitchen door and swung it open with a loose grip on the knob. The well-oiled hinges made no noise, but John wasn’t sure if Alexander would’ve noticed anyways. 

Eliza was wrapped in his arms, so much so that if they were any closer she would’ve been melded to his chest. Alexander’s fingers were tangled up tight in her dark hair as he kissed her deeply, eyelids loose, lowered in peaceful bliss. Eliza’s back was facing John, and so he got a great view of the smile hanging onto the corners of Alexander’s mouth, of how closely and intimately his arm was circling her waist, her swollen stomach.

That was all John saw before he instinctively wretched the door shut again, and it closed with much more force than he’d intended. He winced, heart throbbing painfully in his ribcage, knowing that they had to have heard that. 

He began edging away from the door, hoping if they heard no more noise they’d let the matter pass. 

“John? Was that you?” 

Fuck. 

He stayed silent and got a few more paces in before the door opened behind him with a soft shirk of the hinges. 

“It’s alright, dear, I’ll just see what he wants and be right back -“ 

John began striding faster, wishing the damn dining room wasn’t so fucking long. 

“John! John, slow down,” Alexander’s voice urged, and John barely resisted breaking into a sprint. 

“It’s fine, Alex,” he said without turning around, hearing Alexander’s swiftly approaching footsteps. “I’ll come back later. Just tell me when you’re free.” 

Fingers clamped around his arm, and John glanced back, into Alexander’s concerned face. His lips were reddened, and John’s lungs crushed his heart. 

“John, just tell me what is it that you wanted to talk to me about,” Alexander spouted out in exasperation, bringing them to a halt. 

John’s eyes darted to the hallway door, only a foot away. “It can wait.” 

He could tell Alexander was becoming impatient with his delaying and dodging tactics, his fingers squeezing the blood flow from John’s arm. 

“Well, I’m out now, so might as well say it.” 

“Fine,” John relented, attempting to only focus on the Alexander in front of him. “I wanted to know if you were able to show me those bars you mentioned earlier. I want to see New York in the nighttime. Has it changed much?” 

John could feel his heartbeat in his mouth, sweat ingraining itself into the lines of his curled up palms. He tried to push away the image of Alexander and Eliza, flatten and stomp it into the back recesses of his mind, but there it stayed, Alexander’s contented expression overlaying his current one, the ghost of a painful, undiluted memory. He recalled how Alexander’s hand had rested against his cheek before kissing him, the same hand now engraving marks into his arm. 

“Ah, I did mention the bars, didn’t I?” Alexander said slowly, eyes flicking sideways as he stalled. 

John didn’t know what he wanted Alexander to say. If he accepted his offer, he was in for a painful evening. If he didn’t, John would go out and get drunk and depressed alone. 

Right now, he wasn’t sure which one he preferred. 

“What time are we leaving at?” Alexander questioned him suddenly, with a bright smile and a touch on his elbow. 

It hit John that he was being just a tad too cheery. Perhaps it was just from the joy he got from kissing his very dear and beloved wife, not trying to mask anything. Alexander was very bad at concealing his true intentions, after all. 

“Seven should do,” John told him shortly and took his hand off of his arm. “You should go, I think Eliza’s waiting for you.” 

“Seven is a good time, and I believe she is,” Alexander stated, glancing back and wringing his hands together. He swallowed. “You might want to avoid the kitchen for the next half hour or so.” 

John’s mouth tasted of metal. “I understand. I’ll likely be in my room until then. I have an essay or two to complete. Maybe some pre-study too. I’ll see you later.” 

He spun around and cleared the last few feet to the door within seconds, leaving Alexander’s chest tight and words he couldn’t say choking up his throat. 

\---

John reached the refuge of his room and wondered if he should go out and get drunk before seven. 

Staring at his desk, he debated it for a few seconds, wiping his sweaty hands dry on his pants and attempting to stop thinking of Alexander and Eliza making out so passionately. John sighed, a sigh that seemed to well up from the depths of his sickened stomach, and ran his hands back through his hair. 

No. No, he couldn’t get drunk beforehand. If he drank here, Eliza would be disapproving and curious as to why, and if he went out, he’d either have to go back down to tell Alexander where he was going - which even he didn’t know yet - or just...not tell him. 

John’s eyes wandered, finally spotting a vague thing resembling a “to-do” list, and scanned down through it. 

“Write to family.” Yeah, as if that was going to happen. 

“Tell Alex about the haunted shithole.” Not the best time for that. 

John flung the list back into his desk, groaning out loud as he kneaded his knuckles against his closed eyes. Dear Lord, he would’ve given anything to forget all about what he saw, or even better - to not have seen it all. 

His eyes creeped around his room, desperately searching for a distraction. They fell on his notebook, almost completely hidden by clothes half-splayed out of the suitcase. He exhaled, deep and relieving, and approached it with gratitude. 

Maybe he could get lost in something. 

—

Somehow, John managed to pass the time without ripping his hair out - although a good few pages were torn jaggedly - and half seven crawled up a lot faster than he wanted it to. 

Alexander gave only a single knock before walking straight in, and John’s pencil skittered across the paper, right through the set of alight mahogany eyes. 

“Ooh, you still draw!” Alexander exclaimed, a grin that made John’s chest ache crossing over his face. He strode over to John and leaned on his desk, quirking his head to the side. “Do you have anything you wouldn’t mind me seeing?” 

John snapped his notebook shut, thinking of the awful fact that he barely had a double-page spread without something relating to Alexander on it. During war, all he had were letters and sketches of memories, of fantasies. 

Fantasies that, if discovered, wouldn’t be enough proof to have him hanged, that was. 

He wasn’t stupid. 

“I’ll show you something later,” he lied, scrabbling to his feet. “Are you ready to go?” 

“Yes, but are you?” Alexander queried, his eyes flicking down the length of John’s body. “You appear a bit disheveled.” 

“Walking in on your best friend and his wife will do that to a man,” John commented humourlessly, heading over to grab his coat, hanging on a bedpost. 

Alexander winced. “I’m really sorry about that, John.” 

“Don’t be. It’s your house. I should’ve known to knock,” John said dimly, slipping on his coat and attempting to think of a radical subject change. 

“Still,” Alexander pushed, laying a hand on John’s arm. “I’m sorry you had to see that, especially considering our current situation.” 

His fingers squeezed around John’s forearm, and all John could think of was how he was probably pawing Eliza’s bare ass only minutes before. His only consolation was that they definitely hadn’t fucked, due to the obvious fact she was heavily pregnant. Nevertheless, he shook his hand off. 

“Yeah, apology accepted, now let’s go and get smashed, shall we?” 

—-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yo since like 25k was too long of an update i split it up  
> so next update in two weeks ayy  
> let me know what you think!


	3. “I’m John Laurens, you fucker.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John resigns himself, and Alexander stubbornly refuses to give up, as usual. oh, there's also a fight, a prostitute, a challenge, and of course the regular dollop of juicy angst!!!! (some fluff too though so y'all don't want to actually shoot me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT'S UP MY FELLOW REVOLUTIONARY ENTHUSIASTS  
> okay a little late of two weeks but hey close enough am I right  
> @murtfy i love you and thank you so much for betaing this but go to sleep sometimes okay

John had never been to this pub before, but he had to admit, Alexander’s taste in bars was similar to his, and he found himself relaxing amongst the tarnished tables, the butt-worn seats, and tastefully little decorations along the walls. Most of all, though, the patrons were as rowdy as they themselves had been in their early twenties, the crowd thinning and thickening in parts with every wave of amiable pushing. 

The loudness pressed against John’s ears as he slid behind a table, the cushion singed and stinking of tobacco. Alexander joined him on the bench-like seat, so closely that their thighs and shoulders were touching. 

“I know this table is out of the way, but back off,” John hissed, and Alexander frowned. 

“But it’s only-“

“It looks weird,” John told him, and Alexander reluctantly scooched over, leaving maybe an inch between their bodies. John chose not to berate him further. 

“Beer?” Alexander asked, and John nodded gratefully. “Get me two, would you?” 

Alexander squinted at him, but ultimately only nodded and rose from the table. “I may be a while - it’s quite busy.”

“That’s alright,” John replied, and it wasn’t the answer Alex wanted to hear, from his creased brow. “I can wait.” 

“Alright,” was Alexander’s crisp response, and he left swiftly, maneuvering through the sweaty men, his cleanly pressed clothes making him stand out despite his lacking height. 

John sighed and rested his face in his folded forearms. He should make an effort to act okay, at the very least. Him and Alexander were hanging out again like old times. He should be ecstatic at this chance.

The arguments fell flat in his mind, feeling false underneath his mental fingers, prodding at his hollow motivation. 

Abruptly, he felt a hand on his arm, and he shot upright jerkily, recognizing that the touch most definitely wasn’t Alexander’s. Softly smoked-out eyes met his, siren-crimson lips pouted in a perfect circle as she ran her fingertips over his bicep, lifting one finger to lazily graze against his jaw. 

“You look like you need some company, honey,” she breathed out, high-pitched and carefree. 

John shook his head, grasping her wrist and lowering it back down to the table. “Thanks, but I’m perfectly fine. And married,” he added as a hasty afterthought. 

She shifted closer, almost to where Alexander had first sat next to him, and dragged one deadly nail over his left hand. “Where’s the ring, sweetie?” 

He could smell her now, a thick, poisoning fog of sugar and flowers covering up the dirty, used bar stench. Glancing over, he saw her skinny shoulders hunch in on themselves, in a way that caused her breasts to look like they were about to pop free of her corset. 

John understood the allure of breasts, to some degree. They were soft and pliant, like a comfortable cushion, nice to lay against, but that was about as deep as his affection for them reached. He didn’t understand why men would take to groping them with such gusto, when resting against them and listening to a heartbeat was so much more soothing. 

He stared at them for a bit, recalling how, after sex with his wife, he would lay his head against her nicely-sized chest and she would stroke his hair. 

It only happened a few times, but it had been his favourite part of the whole sex ritual thing. 

“Like what you see?” she purred out, wriggling her shoulders fluidly. “Any more staring and you’re gonna have to start paying, my dear.” 

John met her eyes again without difficulty. Martha’s breasts had been more shapely anyway, not as large or squishy-looking. 

“I said I’m good,” he repeated, and removed her hand from his, resting it beside his on the torn surface. “And I’m serious about that. Don’t waste your time here with me.” 

“Mm, time with a face as handsome as yours isn’t time wasted,” she purred out, yet again raising a hand to skim down John’s cheek. “You’re such an…  _ elegant  _ man. I bet you have a high-powered career, mm? Only something truly worthwhile could buy you this pretty little thing,” she observed, playing with the dyed silk ribbon, holding John’s hair back. 

John supposed he should be getting angry at this stage. But he felt nothing but weariness as she carefully undid the knot, letting his hair drop freely over his broad shoulders. 

“Isn’t that better? Everything feels much more relaxed now,” she sighed out, combing a hand back through her own drooping dark curls. “Let’s introduce ourselves. I’m Sylvia, but that can change with the right amount of money, dearie.” 

She slid a little nearer still, and finally she was where Alexander had first sat, pressing up against his side.

“So what’s your name, sweet-cheeks?” 

Her fingers traced sensual circles on John’s chest, and John gave in. He slumped against her, closing his eyes. 

“My name is John.” 

She was warm, and John was tired. 

He felt her palm slide inside his coat, whether to make him feel more masculine or to check if he had any coin hidden in the lining, he didn’t care. He could indulge in human touch with her without being hauled away and beaten, abused, hanged. 

“What a strong name,” she whispered against his ear, a sticky substance from her lips fixating to John’s ear uncomfortably. 

He felt the vibrations on his palm from glass being lowered down impatiently onto the tabletop before he heard Alexander’s voice. 

“John? What are you doing? More importantly, what are you letting her do?” 

His voice was edgy, and John cracked open his eyes. He gazed at Alexander dully, noticing his hunched lips and the displeased crease in his forehead. 

“What’s wrong? He seems to be enjoying himself,” Sylvia pointed out smoothly, blinking at Alexander. “Is it a bit of jealousy I sense from the notorious Alexander Hamilton? I can take both of you on, if you wish. I’m a woman of many, many talents, particularly for such a skilled lawyer as yourself.”

Her hand fell from John’s chest into his lap, and he jerked upright, snatching her hand from his crotch and placing it back firmly on her own thigh. 

“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” John told her, and Alexander gestured for her to leave, eyes dark. 

“Neither of us want you here. We’re both married.”

Her gaze scanned over Alexander, hooking on the plain silver band around his slender finger. “You’re more faithful than ol’ Johnny boy,” she commented, rising from the seat in a flourish of flouncy lace and bouncy breasts. “He doesn’t even wear his ring. Teach him a thing or two, would you?” 

John’s stare could’ve seared a hole in the table’s surface, his slitted eyes squinting at nothing. Alexander stepped aside to let her pass, and tried to hand her some loose coins with a low mumble of sympathy. Sylvia laughed, taking them in her palm. 

“I likely make more in a week than you do in a year, but I’ll accept your charity, Hamilton. See you two around!”

With a skilled wink and a sultry wriggling of her fingers, she slipped back into the crowd, already flirting. 

John glanced up at Alex, shame blooming a rich red over his sported cheeks. 

There was a second of dead silence between them, only the distant, roiling noise of the high-spirited patrons battering against the glass sides of their own personal jar. John dropped his head. 

Alexander sighed, sliding into place beside John, almost to where Sylvia was moments before. 

“I know you wouldn’t have gone with her, so no harm done,” Alexander stated simply, and handed him his beer. 

John dragged a hand over his eyes, repulsion flowing like a snake’s scales over his skin, through his sickened body. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he drank, slow and deep. 

Alexander cast an eye over John. “She took your ribbon too, didn’t she?” 

“Yeah.” John reached up and gathered his hair at the back of his neck, praying that it’d more or less stay there. 

“Turn your back to me,” Alexander told him, twisting towards him on the bench. “I have a spare strap here - I’ll tie it for you.” 

“Thanks,” John muttered back, obliging Alexander, feeling his fingertips flick against the nape of his neck warmly as he drew his dishevelled hair together. 

“Do you want me to plait it?” Alexander asked, and John chuckled in spite of his mood. 

“I doubt you even could if you tried. Just put it back in a ponytail, that’s fine.” 

“I’m going to try a plait,” Alexander immediately said, and John groaned. 

“Don’t, we’ll be here half the night.” 

“How hard can curly hair be?” Alexander challenged, working his fingers through the first bit of John’s hair. “Ah - hold on, got it! There, only one more division to go!” 

John’s scalp was smarting from where Alex had tugged a bit too roughly, but he ignored it in favour of concentrating on the flurrying sensation of Alexander’s fingers gently prying any knots apart. 

Well, mostly gently. 

“Fuckin’ try to be a little sensitive, would you?” John muttered, and Alexander gave out a deep breath of exasperation. 

“I am trying my best, John, so shut up, would you?” he murmured back, splitting John’s hair successfully into three parts. “Ha! See, I told you I could do it!” 

“I never said you couldn’t do it, just that it would take a long ass time,” John shot back as Alex began to plait. 

“It’s going to look about as presentable as Burr’s beliefs, but it’ll do,” Alexander reassured him, keeping a steady pressure. “It’s a lot easier with straight hair - how do you smooth out these bumps? Eliza’s hair is always soft and simple to work with - do you even brush your hair?” 

Heart constricting, John sighed. “You know what happens when I brush my hair, Alex. We lived together for years.” 

“I just assumed you didn’t brush it because we were in the middle of a war! Hell, I barely brushed mine, so I was in no position to judge.” 

“Remember that one morning you suddenly realised that you’d never seen me brush my hair and assaulted me with your hairbrush?” 

There was a pause, Alexander’s fingers stilling. 

“Yes - that’s when your hair ceased to be hair, right? And became a mass of tangled steel spiderwebs?” 

John felt him tying the end off neatly with the leather strap, forming a firm knot. 

“Pretty much,” John said, turning back to the table as soon as the weight of Alexander’s hands left his neck. 

Alexander took a gulp of his beer, and John followed his example, unwilling to leave a silence without an action. If Alex attempted to bring up “them” once again, John swore he would either get up and leave, punch Alex, or kiss him. He couldn’t decide on one.

Alexander’s gaze only flicked over to his briefly as he set his mug down. 

“I suppose you don’t want to discuss what I want to, you stubborn ass,” Alexander commented lowly, keeping his eyes to the table. 

John swigged down some more alcohol. “Of course not.” 

“Then speak about something else.” 

John’s throat clogged up. “Talk to me about Eliza. Angelica. About your family. Your father, mother, whatever you can remember.” 

Alexander looked at him, full-on, and John sighed, lifting his chin to return the stare. 

“What?”

“I thought you knew everything about me,” Alex said slowly. 

“You haven’t told me much about Eliza, apart from your letters.”

“Fuck, John, you’re living with her too. You tell me about her,” Alexander shot back, hardly bothering to mask the venom in his words. 

John’s jaw was strung up tight. “Are you really that pissed that I won’t fucking -”

“Yes! Yes, I am!” Alexander snapped out, his tired eyes narrowing at John, and for once John only saw weariness in him, underneath all the brash anger, the determination. 

“Alexander,” John said softly. “Please. Can we just… forget about it for tonight? Not everything can be solved by debates or essays or words upon more words. I understand your frustration, better than you’ll ever know, but I need a break.”

Alexander’s shoulders slumped, his superficial rage dissolving. He raised his mug. “Let’s get drunk, shall we?”

John clinked his glass against his with a smile. 

\------- 

Somehow John forgot, between spurts of laughter and sips of alcohol, Eliza. He forgot about the silver band ringing Alexander’s finger, between his quill-calloused, gentle hands and every glimmer of a smile, aimed directly at John’s heart. 

Alexander, his breath lightened with the stink of alcohol, leaned against John’s shoulder with a quiet chuckle, fourth, half-emptied mug clutched in his hand. John pivoted his head towards Alexander, and it took almost more than his drink-fried nerves could handle to stop himself from pressing a kiss to his forehead. As Alexander straightened, John’s blurry mind swept around him, checking that this table really was out of the way, that they really were being passed over, that everyone was already drunk. His hand extended underneath the table, resting on Alexander’s knee, and Alexander’s warm palm flowed over his.

John suddenly realised that he didn’t give a shit about the risk factor anymore, and certainly wasn’t sober. Time to make bad decisions with an excuse. 

He curled to Alexander’s side, into the mild smell of beer and the stronger aroma of paper and smoky ink. Closing his eyes, he felt Alexander’s hand gently round his waist, invisible beneath the table. 

John suddenly had no doubt that he was going to kiss Alex. 

Parting his eyelids - just the bare minimum, so he could see the blurry outline of Alexander’s side profile - he began reaching up with his hand, intent on turning Alexander’s face towards him. 

Alexander speaking the one thing that could’ve stopped him made him freeze, coldness dousing his blood and ice creeping over his limbs.

“I’m sorry for kissing you.”

John dropped his hand. Alexander didn’t notice. 

“I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you again later, too,” Alexander continued, looking straight ahead, fingers welded to his glass mug. “It’s cheating, and I shouldn’t have dragged you into doing it with me. I never asked you how you feel about us now.”

John straightened, the frostbite in his veins only hurting more without Alexander’s warmth against his side. His arm slipped a bit from John’s waist, but his fingers clung onto the material by his lower back, persisting. Alexander turned to him, speaking becoming quicker, more frantic. 

“It was late, and I was so glad to see you again after all that time - Jacky, please forgive me, tell me -“

“Does it matter if I do or not?” John said dully. “Let’s just wait until our feelings fade.”

He could feel Alexander’s anxious gaze on him. “But what if they don’t? What then?”

John met his eyes, and to his surprise, a bit of the ice in him melted. If nothing else, at least they were in this together. John could think of nothing more painful than if he was alone, in unrequited love with Alex. 

“It’ll work out,” John told him, and his voice was a lot calmer than he felt. “Humans aren’t meant to love two people at once. I’m sure with time, we’ll both revert back to just being friends.” 

Alexander stared at him for a moment. “That’s utter shit, John.”

John couldn’t help his laughter, his shoulders sloping up and down with the smooth movement. “Can’t you ever just blindly believe in something for once? That would make this a whole lot easier.” 

Alexander cracked a muted smile. 

“Something that isn’t us? I don’t think so.” 

“‘Us’ doesn’t exist, Alex,” John said lowly, and his words seemed to cling to his lips, weighing them down. “‘Us’ can’t exist.” 

Any traces of a smile drained from Alexander’s face, his fingers white around glass. “I know that. I know what you’re saying, but…” 

John waited.

Alexander swallowed, and his arm withdrew from John’s back. “I can’t think of anything.” 

“That’s a first,” John commented airily, swigging back his beer. It tasted like mashed rat tails with a tasteful sprinkling of piss. 

“Stop making light of this!” Alexander snapped out, clearly annoyed. “I’m trying to figure our situation out here and you’re just sitting there making -“

“Accepting what I can’t change,” John cut across him. “Now can we talk about something else? It feels like we’re just going in circles.” 

Alexander gave an exasperated, weighted exhale, the corners of his mouth drawn in and rigid. “I still don’t like it - I think we should discuss a plan -“

“Feelings can’t be planned, Alex,” John said tiredly. “I’m going to leave if you don’t shut up about it.” 

Alexander genuinely appeared taken aback, his momentary silence speaking of his shock. “But we can’t just simply leave it like-”

John pressed his hands onto the table surface and began rising out of his seat. 

“John!”

Alexander’s fingers caught his upper arm, attempting to tow him back down forcefully into his seat, but John turned slightly, grasping Alex’s wrist and jerking his hand away. “I told you, there’s nothing we can do except wait. That’s a plan, and I’m going to get some more beer. Want some?”

“It’s a shit plan that’s not going to work!” Alexander burst out, half-standing to gesture towards John insistently. “Two years did absolutely nothing - do you really think that anything more will change?”

“Of course not - I may be an idealist, but I’m not stupid,” John responded, gaze filtering through the bodies to fixate on the dark bar. “We can stop it from getting worse, that’s all. Now can you let go of me? I need another beer.”

“Wait.”

“If you’re going to try and get me to discuss this again, I swear-”

John stopped talking as soon as Alexander dropped some coins into his palm. 

“No. Just fetch me one too, would you?”

He smiled up at John, and John had to look away. 

“Sure.”

“It’s still not over,” Alex added, and John shrugged, moving away. 

“Whatever you want to convince yourself of, I’m not involved in it,” was his final statement, rotating his back to Alex. 

He knew Alexander was still speaking - he could never leave a retort like that go - but he walked on, dodging through the crowd, and any hint of Alexander’s voice among the low chatter and high-strung toasts faded out. 

Reaching the counter, he shouldered his way into a small gap, and slammed down the coins with a clatter.  

“Whiskey, neat, on the rocks, and a pint.” 

The bartender gave him a nod, moving to fulfill his order. John sighed deeply, leaning his forearms onto the bar and staring dully at the scratches embedded in the washed-out surface. He mustn’t have been as drunk as he thought, because he felt pretty fucking sobered right now. 

“Hey, you look like you need more than a few drinks,” came a voice from his right, and John turned his head, checking if the man with rowdy stubble and filthy teeth was talking to him. 

He was, and as soon as John made eye contact, he straightened up. 

“Ah,” the man commented, scanning John up and down. “You’re a bit shorter than I thought.” 

“I’m tall enough to beat your sorry ass if you don’t watch yourself,” John growled back, narrowing his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with shitheads.

“Whoa, can we discuss something in a calm manner? I misspoke. Your size doesn’t matter. Some ladies find shortness charming, even.” 

“What do you want?” John asked harshly, setting his shoulders back. 

The man slid onto a stool beside John, tilting his fingers together in his lap. “I only want to aid you, with whatever is bothering you. Lady issues? Financial crisis? Congress being a scoundrel and not paying you your earned wage? Don’t you want to change things?” 

John turned away. “Fuck off.” 

The bartender set down his drinks, and John started shifting away. A cold grip of his wrist forced him to stop, the pint sloshing back and forth in his hand, dangerously close to the rim. 

John glared back at him. “Did you not understand  _ fuck off? _ ” 

“Listen, I can help with the ladies, and money. You look like you need a break, buddy. All I request of you is for you to hear me out for a minute.” 

John never hated the fact that he had two drinks in his hands more than now. 

“There’s filthy niggers roaming the streets like us, you know. Like they’re free or some shit. Here, don’t you want to put them back where they belong? We need to take a stand, and for that we need manpower. It’s very profitable, and the ladies do love a noble cause - they’re very grateful, if you know what I’m saying.” 

John couldn’t help himself - he began laughing loudly, his shaking causing the drinks to slop messily onto the floor. The man looked at him in confusion, releasing his wrist. 

“Uh…?” 

Calming himself, John took a step towards him, a half-grin still hanging loosely on his lips. 

“I’m John Laurens, you fucker.” 

It took a moment for him to place the name, and then the significance of it, and John had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen once the realisation smashed into him. 

“No you’re not. Even I’m not that unlucky-“ the man started, and that was as far as his denial got. 

“Yes you fuckin’ are,” John spat out, and the man began to slip off the stool, skittering away as much as he could in the dense crowd. 

“In that case, kindly forget everything I said, and -“

“Hey,” John addressed him, a savage smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. “Wait up. I think I’d like to hear more about this  _ noble  _ endeavour of yours.” 

“It’s proper order,” the man babbled out through his crooked front tooth. “The law’s on my side. It’s not as if you can do anything about it.”

John’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you sure about that?” 

He apparently regained some of his asshole courage then, because he puffed himself up with all the substance of a cloud, squaring his wide-set shoulders. 

“Yes, I am,” he retorted back, and John’s lips quirked upwards. “Do you really think anyone is going to care if -“ 

“Hey!” 

Alexander’s voice reverberated through the shifting mass of bodies, and John’s attention changed to the little brown-haired man quickly darting towards them. He saw him duck underneath a jovially swinging pint, then dodge around a very tall man’s lethal elbow, and their eyes met. 

“Hey! John!” Alexander called out, nudging a young boy aside. “What’s taking so - oh.”

Alexander pushed his way to John, almost shoving the man into the bar. “John, who’re you picking a fight with now?” 

“This coward,” John told him, then whirled around and smashed his whisky glass into the side of the asshole’s skull. 

Glass splintering underneath his palm, John took his hand away, every eye in the bar now on him as the man slumped over to the side, almost slithering off the stool entirely. He flicked away any shards left stuck to his palm casually, noting the identical thin trails of blood seeping out from his own hand and the man’s hair.  

The bartender sighed, gazing dismally at the destroyed glass on the floor. “You’re paying for that.” 

Alexander whistled. “Nice one, John. Too bad it was so short -“

“HEY! YOU!” 

Before he even faced the new challenger, John gestured to Alexander’s pint in his hand. 

“May I use this?” 

“One second,” Alexander told him, grabbing the pint and swigging down as much as he could, then handed it back to John with a large grin, edged with slick foam. “Go for it.” 

John spun around to glare at the newcomer. 

“Is there a problem?” He inquired, a shitty little smirk curving up the corners of his broad lips. 

His moustache was twirly and thin, his chin pointy, and his breaths, barely two inches from John’s forehead (yet again, John was shorter) were heavy and mildly ominous. “That’s my friend you just clobbered over the head.” 

“He was an asshole. Had it coming, really.” 

The man in question groaned quietly, hands messily and drunkenly patting around where John had hit him, drips of blood staining his fingers. 

“Apologise to him.” 

Laurens raised both his eyebrows. “No. Why would I do that?” 

“Because there will be consequences if you don’t, bastard.” 

“Mm…” Laurens mused, glancing over to Alexander. “What do you think, Alex? Do I owe this guy an apology?” 

“Undoubtedly not,” Alexander declared, crossing his arms over his chest to look imposing as possible. “If anything, the aggregator should -“

“You’re Alexander Hamilton, aren’t you?” The guy shot out across him, and Alex’s eyes narrowed to slits. 

Alexander looked down at himself. “Why, look at that, John. Have you ever noticed that I’m Alexander Hamilton? Because I didn’t, before this nice gentleman pointed it out to me.” 

The man rotated back to John, cracking his knuckles. 

“Which means you are-”

“None of your fucking business.” 

“Classy name.”

“Shut the fuck up, you soulless, shit-filled testicle.” 

“Watch your mouth, or you won’t be able to use it soon,” the man warned, and John grinned. 

“Same goes to you, you ignorant fucker.” 

“Do you  _ really  _ want to challenge us?” Alexander asked darkly, eyes glinting, shoulder steady against John’s. “Because hell, I’m prepared to beat the shit out of you already.” 

The man waved a meaty hand in the air, and two more men pushed their way to either side of him, glowering at the duo with menacing eyes. John was vaguely aware of the people around them inching away from them, only the naive staying close. The veterans smelt trouble, a stifling weight of anticipation clinging to the gut. As he watched, they proceeded to give a glance to their leader’s thin face, and just like that, the tension finally snapped. 

Surging forwards, John lurched to the right, underneath a hook, and drove himself up and sideways, smashing his shoulder into the side of the man’s ribcage. He heard a cracking, a grunt, and then the sharp throbbing in his shoulder. Attempting to recover, the man reached back and grabbed a stool, swinging it over his head to break it against John’s skull. John’s arm flew up and met it straight on, tendrils of agony radiating from the hard wood as the leg shattered with a crack against his lower arm. He retreated back a step, and was barely able to throw up his arms against another punch, the force flinging him back against the bar. Lowering his guard, he narrowed his gaze at the other thug, ignoring the ache in his lower back. 

Out of the side of his eye, he saw Alexander grappling with the king nasty, driving up punch after punch into his torso, but blood was leaking slow from his own mouth. He couldn’t help him - in the next heartbeat, he couldn’t even look at him any more, two of the thugs approaching him again, one brokenly holding an arm across his chest. Picking up a stool, John arched it through the air, keeping them at a distance. 

One of them caught the top and yanked it forwards, forcing John to either let go or be towed towards them. Releasing a hiss of frustration, Laurens targeted one and swiftly threw a punch directly into his nose. He heard the crunch of cartilage yielding to his knuckles, saw his hands automatically fly up to cradle his nose, but didn’t stay for the blood. He was already past him when the thug cried out, slamming an elbow into his spine, pitching him, stumbling, onto his face. 

He felt the violent rush of air on his jaw as he barely dodged the speeding knuckles from the other, his body starting to recall and adapt to the battle situation. Veins buzzing as he spun and clobbered the attacker solidly, a grin split his face lopsidedly. 

They seemed to wise up, one of them looping their arms underneath his armpits from behind, pinning him in place as the other approached from the front, eagerly cracking his knuckles. John kicked out, jerking this way and that, but fuck, the biceps locked around his shoulders weren’t fucking around. 

Suddenly, the grip loosened, and John tore himself free, lurching forwards to knock the second thug back with a good ol’ uppercut. Spinning around, he saw Alexander, disarrayed hair swaying in droves around his face, catching the one that held Laurens in a headlock. 

“Thanks!” Lauren called out breathlessly, and Alexander lifted his face to grin at him through a veil of fallen hair. “Watch your fucking back next time!” 

Laurens was about to flip him off before he saw the leader stalking towards Alex, and his body threw itself forwards before he even planned a course of action. He tackled the burly man straight on, flooring him with a thump and a grunt. 

“Cocksucker,” the man underneath him hissed, raising his arms to guard against Laurens’ relentless punches. “You don’t know who you’re making an enemy of!” 

“I know enough,” Laurens shot back, and slammed a fist into his hard stomach. 

It only had the effect of maddening him - the hair at the back of Laurens’ neck was seized in one meaty hand, and his forehead driven forwards forcefully into the crown of the asshole’s skull. 

Dizzying sparks, like buckshot, hurtled out behind John’s eyes, and he tried to get to his feet, back away, but his legs wavered beneath him, dumping him only a foot away. 

He saw the leader’s savage grin through blurry vision, had time to think “Oh,  _ fuck, _ ” then a boot streaked past his head, catching the dickhead on the chin, sending his head shooting back with a gut-wrenching crack. John looked up to see Alexander’s wide smile, his extended hand. 

“The fuck are you doing, John? The other two are still on their feet.” 

John clapped his hand into Alexander’s and allowed himself to be tugged to his feet, still unsteady but his sight was clearing up more with every blink. 

“Are you okay to go on? I’m pretty sure we could sneak away…” Alexander’s voice dimmed as the other two strode back towards them, looking at their hazy leader splayed on the dirty floor with anger flaring up behind their eyes.

“I’m fine, not that we have a choice,” John answered, and Alex slapped him on the back, attention turning to the thugs. 

He launched himself at the nearest one, John shaking the last remaining fuzziness from his mind and following suit. John slid into automatic movements, shrugging off every hit, slugging back as good as he got - mostly even better. 

Someone was grabbing at John, but it wasn’t Alexander. He caught a few glimpses of Alex ahead of him, fist bashing into some nameless slaver’s jaw. Fighting against the people wrenching him away from the commotion, John twisted around, shoving at shoulders, arms, whatever he could. 

“Let me punch them!” He protested heatedly, grappling frantically despite clearly being outnumbered. 

“No, you’re breaking everything!” 

“For an honourable cause!” John shot back, still writhing, anxious to help out Alex. 

In the next few seconds, however, Alexander himself was grabbed around the waist and hauled away (with much difficulty) from his sparring partner. 

With all contact broken, nobody attacked again, John only glaring darkly at the leader silently. Alexander, on the other hand, was running his fucking mouth as always, swearing and cursing the slavers, the bartender, the people who separated them. “You fucking cock-consuming worthless scourge of humanity I bet you don’t even believe in the tax system!”

Whoever was holding Laurens’ arms back finally released them, and the first thing he did was give the leader an excellent view of two great big middle fingers.

The leader grunted angrily and started forwards again - but another grasped his arm, stopping him. 

“We can’t stay any longer - we have to pick up that shipment tonight! Please, cool off!” 

The man growled lowly, but relaxed, and his mate let go of him. 

“This isn’t over, Laurens. Your disrespect will not go unanswered for.” 

John wiped some blood from the corner of his mouth and spat out, “All of you deserved what I gave you, and more.” 

The man inflamed, and began to stride forwards again, but was held back once again.

“A duel!” He roared out at John, finger jabbing towards him. “One week from now, at dawn! Murray’s Wharf! Then we’ll see you either apologise or bleed, and I pray it’s the latter!” 

“Bring it on, fuckhead,” John declared, Alexander joining him by his side, who let out a sharp laugh. 

“Do you even know who you’re challenging? You’re going to be utterly humiliated in front of all of your men like the Adams-supporting fool you are.”

The muscles in the other’s jaw flexed like enraged ripples across his skin, and he had to be restrained by his second gooney, lashing his arms around one trembling, massive upper arm. 

“I’m going to kill you, Laurens! I’M GOING TO DRIVE THAT GODDAMN BULLET THROUGH YOUR HEART MYSELF!” He bellowed mightily, and John felt some flecks of saliva land on his nose. 

As John Laurens answered him with a smirk, he huffed out heavily from his slim nostrils and spun around, stalking out the door, tailed by his men. Every person in the building released a sigh, as if a gush of clear wind was airing out the entire bar, and the chatter resumed again, a bit more fervent than before. 

John turned to Alex. “Will you-”

“Be your second? Why are you even asking me that?” Alexander chuckled out, thumping John on the shoulder. “Come on, you owe me a replacement drink.”

He smiled over at the bartender, and John stared at the blood smeared on his lip, identical to the one on the back of his hand. 

“Hey,” Alex said to the bartender, who wasn’t looking too happy with them, brows almost crossed over his forehead. “Do you think you could -”

“Leave my bar before I make you pay for all of this,” the bartender threatened, and John gave him a limp smile, fishing around in his jacket for any money he had left. 

“My deepest apologies,” he professed, clinking down some money into the counter. “Here.” 

“Thanks, now get out before ye cause more trouble, the two of ye.” 

Alexander shoved his hands in his pockets, pursed lips sulking as they made their way to the back exit, the patrons parting before their path. They slipped out into the night, the cool air drying the blood on John’s knuckles, chilling his lips. With a clipped click, Alexander pressed the door shut behind them, breathing slowly on his huddled-together hands. John fished in his pocket for a handkerchief, wrapping it around his bleeding palm. He supposed it would’ve been impossible to smash a glass into a skull with that much force without some becoming sunk into his own hand. Still worth it. 

“One thing,” Alexander mentioned as he dusted off his coat. “Why were we fighting them?” 

John threw his head back and laughed, roaring and unbridled in the empty alleyway. “You’re just that eager for a brawl, are you?”

“Not really - rather, I trust your judgement as to who needs their balls crumpled in,” Alex told him, eyes creasing up as he turned his head to gaze fondly at John. “So enlighten me.”

“He was trying to recruit me,” John explained, sobering up quickly. “For one of those despicable gangs of gangrene-mottled thugs that kidnap free Negroes from the streets and resell them back into the system.” 

Alexander let out a disbelieving snort. “I’m surprised you didn’t shoot them on the spot.”

“I didn’t bring my gun,” John sighed out, resting back against the wall. “I regret it, but at least we’ll have the chance to clean out that scum next week.”

Alexander didn’t hesitate with his next question. 

“Are you going to try and kill him?”

John wiped at the blood on his mouth, sensing it crumble to brown dust underneath his fingers. “More than likely.”

Alexander nodded, gaze stuck to John’s mouth. “You missed a bit. Here,” he said quietly, taking out a handkerchief and grasping John’s chin, rotating his head towards him. 

He wet a patch of the handkerchief with his spit, making John crease up his nose. “That’s disgusting, Alex.” 

Alexander rolled his eyes, swiping at the corner of John’s mouth. “We’ve done a lot grosser, Jacky. Have you forgotten when we pissed in Lee’s beer?” 

John let out a soft laugh, recalling. “Oh, that was brilliant. He was so suspicious, and yet nobody took him seriously, since he always used to say the beer tasted like piss. He had it coming, really.”

“I wonder if your piss or my piss tasted worse,” Alexander commented, moving onto cleaning John’s chin. 

“Piss is piss, isn’t it?” John said, and Alexander smiled, a smile that seemed to give John more breath. “Good point.”

John’s hand lifted, just to touch Alexander’s elbow, and for some reason it stayed there. 

Alexander had an excuse to stare at John’s mouth, but John had no good reason to be so infatuated with Alex’s, his wide smile that seems to glow at the edges, his clear affection that made John’s chest balloon up with emotion. 

God, he wished he could get rid of this.

At some point, Alexander lowered the handkerchief, and his gaze stayed on John’s lips, a bead of crimson swelling to a tiny dot from the small slit. After several long seconds, Alexander’s long eyelashes flickered, and his mahogany eyes torched through John’s. John’s hand skimmed up Alexander’s arm, pulling him nearer, chests bumping together. 

“I really missed you, Jacky,” Alexander breathed out, his fingers brushing the inside of John’s wrist. 

“As did I,” John responded lowly, his hand gradually wandering further up, to Alexander’s shoulder, his collarbones, the back of his neck. 

John’s fingers passed through Alexander’s soft hair, his mouth splitting open like a daisy unfolding to greet the sun. Alexander’s breath billowed into his mouth, cracking his lips drier and clouding his mind. John’s nose was touching Alexander’s cheek now, his head tilted at the perfect angle - and he hesitated. 

If he kissed Alex - 

Alexander closed the inch or so between their mouths for him, and all John could taste was beer and bitterness. 

He jerked backwards, the back of his head banging hard against the wall, letting go of Alexander’s neck. The glass in his palm shifted, giving him a shot of pain. 

“Alex, I can’t.” 

“You already did!” Alexander challenged, gripping John’s wrist. 

“You kissed me- I wasn’t -“ 

“You were about to!” 

John let out a groan of frustration, tearing himself free from Alexander’s grasp and spinning around, beginning to stride, with a subtle stumble to his gait, back to the street. 

“Jacky, stop!” 

John kept walking, and in the next second his arm was almost torn from his shoulder as Alexander violently yanked him backwards, forcing him off balance. 

“Talk to me!” Alexander demanded, now facing John straight-on, his fingers welding bruises into John’s forearm. “What’s going through your mind?” 

“I have talked to you!” John spat back as Alexander took a step forwards. “Now fuck off and let me be!” 

Alexander’s grasp on his arm didn’t loosen, and John had to reach across and twist Alexander’s hand off, gaze dark, hostile. 

“Are you done?” 

He could see - sense - the rapid whirring within Alexander’s mind, within his shifting, bright eyes, and his pinched mouth undoubtedly spilling over with theories and hopes. John felt the jagged break in his chest inch open a slight bit wider, feelings bleeding out and staining his ribcage. When Alexander was like this, raw and obstinate, he only dug himself deeper into John’s affections. 

“Alex,” John breathed out, and he extended a hand, tenderly curling a silky piece of Alexander’s flyaway hair around his index finger. 

Alexander’s eyes didn’t leave John's face, but he raised a hand, enfolding John’s hand in his. 

“I  _ know  _ you feel the same, so why won’t you give us a shot?” Alexander asked, and John sighed, closing his eyes. “You also know why I refuse to give us a chance.” 

“I do, but I refuse your refusal! I don’t think -“

“It doesn’t matter if you agree with me or not, you have to-“ 

He couldn’t speak any more with Alexander’s hot lips crushed up to his, the unexpected weight of his body pressing against his causing his back to hit the wall, but Alexander didn’t let up. His hand cupped the back of John’s neck, fingers skimming down his spine, and John’s legs almost folded beneath him. 

His palms finding Alexander’s waist, he slipped them up underneath his shirt, feeling Alexander shiver with pleasure, his kisses growing even more relentless. Alexander’s kisses always reflected how he was feeling, and all John could feel was how hard and passionate his dry lips were, how breathless he suddenly felt, as if his chest was folding in on itself. 

Gathering himself, he pushed Alexander away, gulping in air. 

“I understand your frustration!” He exclaimed, noticing Alexander’s thick gaze, his heaving breast, and the twitch of sheer stubbornness in his hands. “But that’s no reason or excuse to cheat on Eliza. Take heed of your situation!”

“Am I cheating on her with you, or am I cheating on you with her?” Alexander shot back, once again approaching John, his hand meeting the wall beside John’s head. “I love you both, and who’s to judge who’s being wronged?” 

He dipped his face, and began kissing John’s neck, slow and so sensuous that it convinced John that he didn’t have a spine anymore. 

“It’s Eliza who’s being wronged,” John whispered, even as his fingers wove through Alexander’s hair, even as he relaxed into the warmth of his mouth. “You chose her.” 

“I didn’t have a choice,” Alexander murmured into the nape of his neck. “I couldn’t very well have married you, could I?” 

John’s mouth formed a rigid line. “If you could’ve, would you have married me?” 

Alexander paused about halfway up John’s neck, and he only felt the slick slide of teeth a second before the wet, stinging clamp on his skin, sharp and painful.  

John stifled a hurt gasp as Alexander sighed out, “Without a single doubt,” against the swelling injury. 

John angled his head backwards, up towards the black sky, caressed with flecks of light and dim, grey clouds that were barely visible wisps. 

“I don’t believe you,” he told him emptily, feeling his neck throb. He wished any of those thugs at the bar had decided to stab him with some broken glass bottle. It would’ve been less torturous. 

Alexander kissed the wound softly, and his arms slinked around John’s neck, holding him close. 

“Being honest, I would’ve married you because we knew each other before Eliza came into the picture. And if you both entered my life at the same time - I don’t know what I would’ve done. I’m sorry, Jacky. I really am. But we’re still together, aren’t we?” 

John shut his eyes, shuttering out the stars, and wondered aloud. 

“Is that a good thing?” 

Alex didn’t answer him for a long time. 

“I don’t know.” 

—

Eliza’s hands were gentle, but John still winced when she tweezed out another minuscule shard of glass from his alcohol-soaked palm. Alexander loitered nearby, anxiously waiting for Eliza to finish, pacing the length of John’s room once more. 

“Alex, calm down,” John sighed out, watching his fingers tug worriedly at his joints. “It’s only some glass. You know I’ve had much worse.” 

“What? Yes, of course I know that!” Alexander answered, halting to peer at John’s torn flesh. “I’m not worried. It just looks so much worse when you’re taking them out, Eliza. And it likely hurts a lot more, too.” 

“Not so much,” John answered. “Eliza’s good at this, and having glass in your palm is fairly agonizing.” 

“Not that you showed it,” Alexander said, jumping back up onto the kitchen table. 

“I wasn’t about to scream with pain in front of those assholes,” John retorted back as Eliza set down the tweezers, beginning to wind a bandage around John’s palm. 

“John, just try to not lift anything heavy, okay? Go easy on the writing, and it’ll be healed in a week or so.”

“Thanks, Eliza, I really appreciate this,” John told her, smiling. His lips still felt the imprint of her husband’s ones on them clearly, and bile rose, scorching his throat. 

He retreated a step, adjusting his shirt collar uncomfortably. 

“It’s no problem, but I do wish you wouldn’t get into a fight every time you go out,” Eliza sighed, casting a glance over at Alexander, tapping her lip pointedly. 

Alexander covered his minor injury with a finger, defending himself with, “I don’t even go out that often! It was mostly John’s fault, in any case.”

John lifted an eyebrow, sliding off his coat. “Was it mine, or the men who got on my nerves?”

Alexander opened his mouth, but Eliza had something to say first. 

“A mistress, John?” Eliza asked, gaze dipped and sparkling with amusement. 

John’s forehead creased up, utterly confused until he realised where Eliza’s gaze was directed, to his slipped collar, to his exposed hickey. 

“Ah - no, there was just this woman who was being very forward,” John told her, trying to sound as straight as possible. Quick, think of what a heterosexual man would say! “She - uh, began - her breasts -“

Eliza laughed, giving him a thankful escape from an explanation. “I don’t need to know the details, John, don’t worry! Only if you want to tell me.” 

She coupled this with a wink, and John’s throat clogged up. Out of the corner of his eye, Alexander’s lips were stretched white and thin, his eyes downcast. John shifted the collar back to cover it over, and Eliza obviously picked up on his discomfort, because she backed off, holding her hands up in apology. 

“Sorry, John. I didn’t realise it was so personal to you.”

“It’s fine,” John said bleakly, shaking his head. “It was a bit of a… an eventful night. I’m exhausted, so would you excuse me if I retired to the bedroom?”

“Of course not,” Eliza smiled, patting his hand. “Be careful not to disturb Philip, will you? He’s a bit of a light sleeper - takes after his father.”

“I will. Goodnight, Eliza.”

“Sweet dreams!”

John glanced over at Alexander, who only met his gaze for one fluttering heartbeat.

“Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, Alexander.”

John hesitated for a second more, attempting to catch Alexander’s volatile eyes, then he grabbed his coat and left.

—

“Alexander, Aaron’s here!” 

At Eliza’s call, John paused his sketching and frowned over at Alex, who was pacing the room with his usual restless energy, mouthing a speech unheard. 

“Aaron Burr?”

John had to wait until Alex finished his silent paragraph before he replied. 

“Yes - we’re defending a client together for the first time, and I've been entrusted with the lead position, to summarise after he puts his arguments forwards.”

John raised an eyebrow, shutting the book and standing. “Summarising? You can’t summarise, Alex. And the lead lawyer? I don't think Aaron would be too fond of heeling to you.”

“Why, he should be used to it by now,” Alexander quipped, hastily gathering up all of the required paperwork off of his desk. “Dammit - help me John, if I'm late Burr will be overly pleasant to Eliza and continually passive-aggressive to me for the next month and I would rather avoid that needless bitterness between us.”

“Why didn't you just tidy this away in advance?” John sighed, leaving his journal on the chair and aiding Alexander's attempts to shove all of his notes and sources into a single bag. 

“I didn't expect him this early - or maybe I lost track of time, I'm going to blame Burr anyway,” Alexander spilled out, hurriedly snatching at the loose notes around him, glancing at them swiftly before slamming them into any available space. Which included up his sleeves. 

“You really are a professional man,” John slyly commented, watching him flounder around to remember every paper. He knew damn well that once Alexander was in there, he would need none of the paper he was so determinedly looking for. 

“I don't have time for your cheap sarcasm, John,” Alexander dashed out, straightening his outfit and exhaling deeply. “Alright. I'm ready to face Burr without him making any low digs at my appearance.” 

“You look like an esteemed New York lawyer should,” John approved, glancing him up and down. “Your touchy ego shouldn't be able to be damaged by Burr, or anyone.” 

He wasn't lying. Alexander bore a deep green velvet suit, accented with flouncy white ruffles, making his chest appear larger than it actually was - an advantage Alex badly needed. His tailed jacket angled in slightly at the waist - was it tailored personally? His shoes, as always, were crisply polished, a larger-than-normal heel adding some much-needed height to his stature. 

“My ego is indestructible, I'll have you know,” Alex declared, smoothing out a wrinkle in his sleeve. “I'll see you later, Laurens, after I successfully close this case.” 

“Cocky bastard, aren't you?”

“And rightfully so,” Alex reminded him cheekily. “I do have quite the reputation as a lawyer. You should come along to see me sometime. Maybe you'll learn something.”

“Pass,” John told him dryly. “Your ego is massive enough. If it got any bigger New York City wouldn't be able to hold it.” 

“Enough of your smart answers, I have places to be.” 

“I'm not stopping you from going anywhere.” John retorted back. “Goodbye.” 

Alexander smiled at him, approaching to place a hand on his shoulder, swiftly leaning in towards John’s face and -

John jerked backwards an anxious step, making space between Alexander's mouth and his. “What are you doing?” 

Alexander blinked, a crease forming between his brows as he straightened again - but his hand didn't leave John's shoulder. “Ah,” he began stiffly, squeezing John’s shoulder. “Apologies. Force of habit, I presume. I always like to give my dear ones a kiss before I leave.” 

“On the lips? I don't think so,” John answered flatly. “That's for your wife, Alexander.” 

“Yes.. yes, you're right,” Alexander fumbled, retracting his hand from John’s shoulder. “I really must depart now.” 

He exited quickly, and John could clearly see the knots of tension in his back through the perfectly-fitting suit jacket. 

John deposited himself back into the chair, threading his fingers back through his hair with a deep sigh. It seems like Alexander hadn't figured it - them - out either. 

Fishing his journal out from the side, he flipped it open, thumbing past his earlier nature drawings until he reached the latest one. A trim form, outline blurred slightly with the illusion of perpetual movement. 

Marking the page with his finger, John flicked back into his wartime sketches - not that there were many - and found a similar one of Alexander, on one of the first incidences he’d challenged Washington about his post. John hadn’t been there, but Alex had explained the scene in detail to Laurens in a letter soon after, full of ecstasy at being chosen as a general, but he had to fight for that. Laurens’ mind had filled in any blanks, knowing exactly how it would’ve gone down, and then, the sketch and scene had unfolded willingly beneath his fingers.

The tent had been small, but it hadn’t appeared to confine Alexander - his voice billowed through the cloth easily, his restless, insistent pacing and determined hand gestures only accenting his resolve to throw off the shackles of his desk job, to get out there and fight. 

Washington’s gaze had been rock, indisputable and immovable. 

“Lafayette has chosen his own General for the charge on Yorktown, it’s his -“ 

“No. No, I need this,” Alexander interrupted heatedly, pressing his knuckles together. “I refuse to accept that I’ve spent all of the war writing your correspondence and now, I request but one thing of you-“

“A demanding thing, to say the least,” Washington cut in, hands gripped tight behind his back. “Alexander, what you’re asking requires me to overrule Lafayette’s decision to use his own general -“

“A misinformed decision made because he thought I wasn’t an option!” Alexander burst out, slamming his palms down on the table separating them. “Don’t you dream of a united victory over Britain with both French and American generals? Nobody will be put out except for that French fuckhead Lafayette chose - who I’m more vastly qualified than, and have seniority over also. Those are all valid reasons to put me in charge of a battalion - please, Sir!” 

Alexander was breathing hard, almost pleading with the Commander. Washington narrowed his eyes, weighing up Alexander’s words, exhaling deeply, evenly. 

“Let me think about it.” 

“When will you give me an answer?” Alexander demanded. “This is my last chance to break out of the constraints of my background - if I don’t lead in the deciding battle - I’m not going - I won’t be able to have any influence in the formation of this country! You’ve grown up privileged, Sir - I have to prove my worth in battle. Words without actions will only carry me so far.”

Washington reached for his hat on the table silently, Alexander not dropping his stare for an instant as Washington slotted the hat upon his own head with a sigh. 

“You aren’t going to back down this time, are you, Alexander?” 

“Do I ever?”

Washington exhaled in a huff of amusement. “That’s a fair point. Be assured, Hamilton, I’ll give your suggestion proper consideration, and I’ll give you my answer by this evening.” 

Alexander nodded slightly, still looking far from pacified, but recognizing that if he pushed Washington too far, it would have the opposite effect. 

“I’ll pack up then,” he told his general, stepping back from the table, hands joining behind his back. 

Washington raised an eyebrow, but Alexander had already ducked out of the tent before he could speak. 

John wished that he had been there. The force of Alexander’s passion and drive was something he used often, but rarely so rawly, so fully. Hearing Alexander’s sharp, decisive voice was one of his favourite things, and John barely bothered to hide his admiration. 

Closing the journal, John sighed, and wished that Alex wasn’t as magnetic as he was. 

\----

John was reading quietly when Alexander returned home, in what previously had been silence. 

“ELIZA JOHN WAIT UNTIL I TELL YOU WHAT BURR DID THAT FUCKER-”

Eliza’s voice boomed over his, shrill and commanding, and John jolted in his seat. 

“ALEXANDER PHILIP IS HERE!” 

John heard barely any hesitation in Alexander's next words. 

“SHIT SORRY - fUCK JUST LISTEN JOHN WHERE ARE YOU I NEED TO TELL YOU ABOUT THE WEASELY SPINELESS BUT INFURIATINGLY INTELLIGENT BAS - MAN!”

“Alexander, go out into the yard and scream if you have to, just don't curse so openly in front of Philip!” 

John hurried downstairs and into the kitchen, not about to miss out. “What'd he do?”

Alexander's eyes were flaring, his whole body seeming to lift and waver with the strength of his voice as he powered around the main room, breaths heavy in between words. Eliza stood by, her arms crossed over her chest, clearly policing him. 

“So as you know we were jointly defending this client and I believed the best way to success would be for me to wrap up with my summary of my points after he made his case and of course my job is a lot more important it’s essentially getting in the last word after all but that -” here he gulped in a gallon of air into those mighty lungs of his, and resumed his ranting. “ - little thick-lipped cunning  _ ferret _ of a man predicted  _ ALL OF MY ARGUMENTS! ALL  _ OF THEM! He left me with  _ NOTHING _ to say!” Alexander's hand struck his thigh. “Nothing at all! I had the most vital job and he didn't even give me a chance to do it! It would've looked stupid if I had gotten up there and began rehashing and repeating the exact same arguments as he'd just driven home to the jury minutes before! That scheming underhanded passive-aggressive dry-witted soulless  _ fu-” _

“Alexander.” 

“HE’S SO GOD-DAMN PETTY!” 

“Alexander!” 

John had to hold back a grin. Burr knew exactly how to infuriate Alex, didn’t he? On the other hand, Alex seemed to irritate Burr without him meaning to. 

He leaned back against the wall, observing how furiously he strode around the room. 

“He was just doing his job, Alex. You can’t blame him for being a good lawyer.” 

“But he did this on purpose, I know he did, the egocentric wombat,” Alexander insisted, and Eliza stepped up to his back, winding her arms around his shoulders. 

“It’s alright, Alex. Did you win the case?” 

Her voice was gentle, soothing, and John saw Alexander’s expression grow less strained. 

“Yes, but -“

“Try not to take it personally, Alexander. Despite what you may think, Burr doesn’t do everything to spite you.” 

Alexander exhaled, closing his eyes, relaxing back against Eliza. “I know that. It’s just difficult to not take insults like this to heart.” 

“Aaron, despite what he may say, has the same difficulty,” John mentioned, chest tight. “So give him some slack, would you?” 

“I doubt he’s giving me any slack, so why should I give him that courtesy?” Alexander retorted back. “I regard us friends, but if he keeps up transgressions like this I won’t be able to hold my tongue, and I won’t want to, either.”

“At what point did you ever hold your tongue?” John sighed out. 

“At what point did you ever withhold your fists?” Alexander shot back, and John had to crack a begrudging smile. 

“Fair enough.” 

A similar smile spread over Alexander’s face in response, and he stuck out his tongue, clearly gloating over his victory. Eliza buried her face in the crook of his neck, over his shoulder, and his fingers reached up to loop through hers, joined across his collarbones. 

“I admit that you two might be right, but I’m still holding a grudge,” Alexander announced, lifting up his chin stubbornly. 

John raised an eyebrow. “How could we ever even think that you’d forget and forgive an insult to your ego?” 

Eliza chuckled against his shoulder, and Alexander stretched out a hand to thump John on the chest, lips thickened in a sulk. 

“You make it sound like I’m some petulant child.” 

Eliza’s arms unwound from around Alexander’s shoulders, feeling that the tension had drifted out of him. 

“Am I wrong?” John retorted back, and Alexander balled up his fists. 

John dodged to the side just before Alexander’s knuckles met his shoulder, chuckling out, “You’re going to have to be quicker than that. As you pointed out, I am a veteran of bar fights.” 

“Must I remind you that we’re both veterans of an actual war?” Alexander responded. 

Just then, Philip paddled into the room, and Eliza instantly caught him up in her arms. “There you are! I was starting to worry about you, you little scamp.” 

The servant smiled at the scene, hands neatly folded behind her back. “He’s been good all day, Mrs. Hamilton. No tantrums.” 

“At all? Mm, what’s got you in such an amiable mood?” Eliza questioned him, index finger lightly booping his short nose. 

Alexander joined her, welcomed by Philip’s grin, and began messing around with the light curls falling over his forehead. “It’s not like it’s a rarity for him - only for other kids.”

“He’s obviously inherited his mother’s temperament then,” John commented, and Alexander discreetly snuck a hand behind his back to throw up a middle finger. 

“He’s also learning how to read,” Alexander bragged, and John gave him a flat look.

“And his mother’s brains, too. That’s the only explanation.”

John approached while Alexander bit down on his tongue, restraining his doubtless colourful comeback for Philip’s sake, but making sure to glower at him. 

As soon as Philip caught sight of John from behind Alex, he jabbed a chubby arm out into the air and squealed, “Yo Papa!”

“Hey, you remembered!” John exclaimed, wavering his fingers to him in greeting. “Yo to you too, Philip. Just leave out the ‘Papa’ next time, yeah?”

Philip gazed at him a moment, then his feet started hammering at Eliza’s belly, and Alexander hurriedly took him from her, sparing a second to glance at her living stomach. “Dammit, John, don’t get him excited, otherwise he’ll never settle down.”

“Speaking of settling down, I think I’m going to bed for the night,” Eliza mentioned, resting a hand on her stomach. “This one is becoming heavier by the day.” 

Alex nodded, leaning forwards and kissing her on the cheek. “Goodnight, darling. I’ll be up as soon as I put Philip to bed.” 

“Goodnight Alexander,” Eliza answered softly, pecking him on the mouth. “And goodnight John, I hope you sleep well.” 

“You too,” John responded politely. 

He watched Eliza leave, painfully aware of the gentle smile on Alexander’s lips he didn’t even think he himself knew about. Alex set Philip down again, who proceeded to bolt (well, in toddler terms) to the kitchen table, crawling in underneath the chairs happily. 

“He doesn’t look like he’s going to go to sleep anytime soon,” John commented, and Alexander nodded. “He’s as restless as you or I, John, which is a pity, since I wanted to finish that essay slandering Adam’s name.” 

“I can take him for a while, if you wish,” John suggested, as Philip gurgled his enthusiasm, repeating some simple phrases to himself. 

“Mama! Papa! Tories! Yo!” 

John smiled, crouching down to peek underneath the table, trying to catch Philip’s attention. 

“Hey, Philip, want to play hide and seek?” 

He gestured for him to come out, but Philip only pursed his lips, stuck out his tongue and blew a big fat raspberry at him. In response, John lifted a finger and pulled down his eyelid, causing Philip to squawk in alarm and scramble out the other side of the table. Quickly straightening up and rounding to the other side, John bent down and scooped up Philip underneath the arms, ignoring how his little feet beat against his torso. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with minding him for a while?” Alexander asked, and John nodded surely as he walked back to his side. 

“I have a lot of younger siblings. I’m well used to young children and toddlers, don’t worry. Half of my early adolescence was spent minding my siblings.” 

Alexander smiled at him warmly, and John’s entire chest seemed to lurch to the side. He busied himself with adjusting his grip on the slippery toddler, directing his gaze away. 

“I’ll make this up to you, I swear,” Alexander promised, and John felt his dry lips press against his cheek for an instant. As blood gushed to John’s cheeks, Alexander leaned over to Philip, kissing him lightly on the forehead. 

“Don’t give John too hard of a time, alright?” 

“He better not, or he’s going straight to bed,” John threatened, looking Philip straight in the eyes. “Understand? No funny business. If you cheat in hide and seek, I’ll know, and you’ll be going to sleep without any delay.” 

Philip laughed and beat his hands together, and John couldn’t help his grim-serious expression cracking apart, turning into a grin. He glanced over at Alex, and recognised that same smile that had been on his face only minutes before. 

John looked away, lungs compressing in on themselves painfully. “You’re frittering away your time here, Alex. Get writing already.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alexander blink abruptly, as if emerging from a cloud of his own thoughts, and then nod. 

“Yes, I better,” he began, laying a warm hand on John’s arm. “Thank you for this, John. I really do appreciate it.” 

“I’m living here rent-free, it’s the least I can do,” John answered, and Philip wriggled in his arms, trying to get his father’s focus on him. “Papa! Papa!” 

Alexander smoothed down Philip’s fluffy hair, smiling with those lovely crinkling warm brown eyes of his that didn’t make John’s head feel giddy, not at all. “Don’t tire John out too much, okay, son?” 

Philip slapped his palm against his hand, and Alexander obviously took that as a yes, eyes drifting back up to meet John’s. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, John.” 

“Goodnight,” John replied, Alexander’s warm hand burning through his clothes to his skin. “I’ll try not to lose him.” 

Alexander stepped back, giving John the look he reserved for Burr’s neutral bullshit. “I’m quite a lawyer - I could sue you for every penny of your inheritance, so I’d be careful with my son if I were you.” 

“I told you I’d try,” John defended himself, winking at Alex. “I can’t swear on it, though.” 

“I will kick you out of the house.” 

“Isn’t it mostly Eliza’s?”

“I will convince her to kick you out of the house.”

John laughed, and Alexander shook his head, edging towards the door. “Enough stalling. I have work to do. Goodnight once again, John.” 

John only nodded, feeling the amusement draining out of his expression as his eyes tracked Alexander’s disappearing form through the doorway. Philip made a swift attempt to break out of his arms again, and John was almost caught off guard, hissing out a curse underneath his breath. 

“Alright, Philip, I get the idea. You’re as impatient as your father, I swear. Hide and seek it is.” 

\----

John drew the blade carefully across his jaw, as delicately as he could manage, but the razor still nicked the skin, a well of blood appearing, to his frustration. He took up a cloth and dabbed at it, eyebrows lowered in exasperation. He had been shaving since he was fourteen, why couldn't he do it now? 

He lowered the razor, squinting into his barely half-shaven reflection, and an abrupt clattering against the sink startled him, the blade slipping from his fingers. Regaining his nerves, John exhaled with amusement. He must've lowered his hand more than he thought for the razor to hit against the sink… 

John looked at his hand, and it was shaking. 

War never ended, not really. 

Closing his eyes, John sighed. He missed it. Maybe that was strange, but he did. In war, one only needed to focus on survival, nothing else. He could push away his feelings for Alex, hide away from his father’s expectations, ignore the fact that he abandoned a wife and kid he never really wanted in the first place. 

“Shit,” John whispered. 

The sound of his door opening caused him to spin around, unprepared for any visitors. He strode out of the bathroom, already knowing exactly who it was. Who else would enter without knocking? 

As soon as Alexander saw him, he barrelled into his point, hopping closer to him. 

“Ah, John! I knew you'd be awake, and I was thinking - about a new way to defend Ms. Ransumer from her conviction and although it goes against everything I believe it could just let her off the hook -” 

As Alexander got closer, rambling, John recognised his erratic, almost maniacal, hand movements - circular. 

“Alex,” John cut across him, but Alex kept on going, beginning to pace around the room. 

“I think if we plead that since she is a woman and was weak, couldn't control her impulses-”

“Alex.”

“- the judge will be misogynistic enough to believe that bullshit -”

“Alex!” John repeated for the last time, seizing him by the arm. “We can discuss this once you go to sleep, or you’re going to pass out soon.” 

Alexander's flow of words stopped, and John could see the tiredness etched into the lines around his mouth even more clearly. He peered at John, confusion crossing his face.

“Why are you half-shaven?”

“Oh, maybe because you burst into my room without knocking first?” 

“Then why are you bleeding?” Alexander queried further, stepping closer. 

“Fuck,” John said, swiping at his skin and seeing the thin smear of blood on his hand. 

“Do you need someone to teach you how to shave again?” Alexander mocked, his face the perfect picture of superiority as he poked at John's nicks along his jaw. “Have you become uncivilised from staying in the South too long? Are you experiencing any urges to suppress basic human rights yet?” 

“You can't even grow anything to shave, so I don't know what you're teasing me for,” John shot back, grabbing Alexander’s hand and lowering it away from his face. 

Alexander stuck out his tongue at him. “At least I know how to shave.” 

“Which is useless knowledge without something to shave, unless you want to rid yourself of your chest hair - which you don't have either,” John retorted, poking at the centre of Alexander's chest. 

Alexander's eyes twitched, and then he was grabbing the razor John forgot he was still holding onto out of his hand, shoving John backwards with the other. 

“Right. I'm going to shave you, since you appear incapable of doing it yourself. I can't let you show your face looking like that, or with numerous cuts.” 

“You just want the satisfaction of knowing that you can do something better than me,” John grumbled, but he complied, walking into the bathroom with Alexander's warm hand on his back. 

“Yes, well, I won't deny that that may be part of it too,” Alexander admitted, shrugging. “Turn around.” 

His fingers caught around the point of John’s chin, bringing his face closer to his. Lathered soap slapped against his cheek unceremoniously, and John contorted his expression in distaste, spitting some from his lips. 

“No need to be like that just because I have something to shave and you don't. Envy is one of the seven deadly sins, you know,” John reminded him as Alex smoothed out the soap, sparing a second to shoot John a glower. 

“You can mock me all you want, but in the end, you’re the one who has to be shaven by someone else,” Alexander retorted back. “Now shut your mouth, or I’ll cut you.” 

“You-“ 

Alexander seized John’s chin and effectively sliced off his insult, intense eyes running through John. “No talking.” 

John gave a low grunt of complaint, but stayed mute as Alexander’s gaze dropped back to his jaw. He felt the slow drag of the razor across his taut skin, saw Alexander’s concentrated, furrowed brow, and shut his eyes. Alex hadn’t let go of his chin, and John allowed him to angle his face this way and that, liking the warm pressure of Alexander’s fingers. Alexander was never one for leaving silences as they were, but he didn’t touch this one. 

This one was okay. 

“John?” Alexander asked quietly after a few minutes, through the soft sound of scraping. 

His eyes still shut, John replied, “I thought I told you years ago that you can call me Jacky, when we're in private.” 

“I'll call you Jacky when I wish to,” was the unflustered response. “I haven't forgotten it, and to tell the truth, I'm slightly offended that you would think that I did.” 

“You weren't using it,” John justified, feeling Alexander's fingers carefully angle his face to the side.  “Much.”

“In any case, that's not what I wanted to ask you about.”

“Then what is it?” 

“What would you do if I kissed you?”

John’s eyes opened, and Alex blathered on. 

“As in, again..” Alexander’s movements faltered for an instant. “I know we already did, but that was in the early morning and we hadn’t seen each other for so long and again, after the fight I was at least tipsy, and I thought that when I kissed you I wouldn’t feel like this any more, but-“ 

“You do,” John finished, and Alexander nodded dismally. 

“I still really, really want to kiss you.” 

He stopped shaving altogether, tracing John’s face, attempting to examine every piece of expression he could find. John gave him very little to work with, only a subtle, pensive pinch of his mouth giving away his indecision. 

After a few heartbeats, John’s eyes flicked to the side, and gave Alex no answer. 

Lamely, Alex asked, “What do you want to do, John?” 

“I want to shave the rest of my damn face,” John stated briskly, reaching for the blade. “I can do the rest myself.” 

Alexander refused to give him the razor, his hand resting solidly against John’s breastbone, his next words cutting through him. 

“That’s not an answer, and you know it.” 

John’s gaze drifted back to meet his, tired and weighed down with a heavy sort of affection. Alexander’s lips split apart again, but John just numbly shook his head. 

“I don’t have an answer,” John said quietly, and Alex gently took hold of his chin again, dark eyes mellow.

“That’s okay,” he responded, and lifted the blade. “I’ll be finished in a few seconds. Hold still.” 

John obeyed, his eyes not quite closing completely this time. He surveyed Alexander, with his fuzzy stubble and alert, caring eyes as he cautiously shaved the last patch of John’s face, and felt nothing but contentment. 

Alexander felt his focus on him and glanced up to meet his stare, offering John a quick smile as he lay down the razor. 

“Done.” 

They both outstretched a hand for the towel at the same time, but Alexander snatched it up first and had it almost suffocating John before he could protest. Dabbing away the soap, Alexander even wet the towel, rinsing John’s face off completely. 

“You’re welcome,” he told him as John turned to the mirror, running an inspection hand over his lower face. 

“Not bad,” John complimented, hating how all the nicks were from his own fuck-ups. 

“Not bad? A barber would’ve charged you a hefty price for that quality of work,” Alexander argued, and John grinned at him in the mirror.

“Not if he volunteered his services,” John shot back, turning back to face Alexander. “Which you did, fully and willingly. You practically dragged me in here.”

“Says the person living in my house and eating my food without rent,” Alexander retorted back, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t get to say I shouldn’t get paid for my service.”

John laughed. “Now you’re saying that I should pay you for assaulting my face with a razor? You’re practically half-asleep, I could’ve been killed.” 

“I would never risk your neck,” Alexander retorted. “You risk it more than often enough of your own accord. I don’t wish to speed up your inevitable early demise.” 

John aimed a punch at Alexander, who nimbly dodged, sticking out his tongue. “Please, John, we can settle things like mature men, without having to resort to violence - John!” 

This time Alexander gripped his wrist, stepping in close again, eyes bold and daring. 

“I’m going to punch you,” John told him, and Alexander laughed. “Then I’m going to punch you back, twice as hard.” 

John’s hand dropped to his side, but Alexander didn’t let go of him, instead letting his palm slip up from his wrist to his upper arm cautiously. His solid grasp on his arm was almost like a challenge. 

John looked at him, his breath thick in his throat. 

Alexander held his arm steady, his hand slipping around the back of John’s neck. And when he leaned in, John did too, resting their foreheads against each other somewhere in the middle of the space separating their chests. 

A smile curled around John’s lips, allowing their gentle breaths to mingle into one. 

A voice echoed from beyond the door, following the knock. 

“John? Sorry to bother you, but is Alexander in there?” 

Alexander closed his eyes. 

“Yes, I’m in here,” he called back loudly, squeezing John’s arm. “I’ll be out in a minute, alright?” 

John went to pull away, but Alexander’s hand putting more pressure on the back of his neck didn’t let him.

“Alex, please,” John said quietly, touching their foreheads together. Alexander still had his eyes stubbornly closed, as if maybe he could preserve this instant if he couldn’t see it for the reality of what it was. 

One kiss, one night could be banished as a stupid, brief lapse in judgement. 

“Jac-“

“No. I’ve fucked up enough,” John declared, grasping Alexander’s wrist, jerking his hand off of him and straightening up. “Go to your wife.” 

“What do you mean you’ve fucked up enough?”

Alexander questioned in bewilderment. 

“By letting you kiss me,” John told him, regret weighing down his voice. “Once is more than enough. Go.” 

“John, it’s my fault, my choice -“

“Eliza’s waiting on you,” John interrupted, stepping back. “Thanks for shaving me.” 

Alexander tried to grab his arm again, but John dodged, increasing the distance between them. “I just want to be intimate with you again!” Alexander protested, a little too loudly for John’s comfort. 

“But not at the expense of your wife, idiot,” John hissed back, and lay a finger over his lips. “Keep it down - she’s still waiting for you.” 

Alexander grimaced, and another knock sounded through the room. 

“Alexander?” 

“I’m coming,” Alexander called back, and started towards the door. 

He glanced back at John, who stared right back, expression hard. Lips tightening, Alexander left the bathroom, and John could finally relax. 

He heard the door open, their affectionate chatter, like ribbons lacerating the still air, and sighed, pressing his hands to his newly-smooth face. 

John tried to convince himself that he’d feel shittier if he’d kissed Alex, but it wasn’t working. He’d regret it either way. 

\---

John woke to darkness, and a weight leaning on his bed. 

“John? Are you awake?” 

Alexander’s voice hissed out of the blackness, and John felt the weight shift, now near his hip at the side of the bed. He rubbed one eye as he waited for his sight to clear, groping for Alexander with an outstretched hand. 

“Yeah, you got what you wanted and I'm awake,” John told him, watching how Alexander seemed to be dithering between words, his agitated hand evident even in the near blackness. “What do you want to talk about?” 

John's hand met Alexander's arm, and followed it up to his shoulder, placing him. 

“Am I really that obvious?” Alexander asked, moving up and further onto the bed, kneeling by John's side. 

“Why else would you have woken me?” John asked him, and now he could vaguely see the outline of Alexander's face, drawn and grey under the pre-dawn light. 

“You still don't mind? I know we used to do this constantly, but that was during wartime, and I was afraid that you'd become a stickler for sleep.” 

John let out a low chuckle, patting Alexander's cheek. “I rarely sleep the full night through anymore, Alex,” he told him, finally sitting up and putting his back against the backboard, propping up the pillows. “Tell me.” 

“I need to…” Alexander faltered. “You remember what I told you about my childhood, yes?” 

“Of course,” John answered, leaning forwards a bit further. “Is this about what Adams has been saying?” 

Alexander inhaled, a little shakily. “I don't want him marring my reputation like this. He's being completely obstinate and insisting on undermining my status because of my illegitimate birth and murky background - I don't know how he found out, he must've sent out many messengers to the Caribbean, or pillaged my scholarship documents - but he did, and I don't know how to refute this, Jacky. I can't disparage him without proving his point - he's far too popular among the people, but…”

Alexander paused, and John smiled in the dark. 

“That never stopped you before, did it? Except for Washington, but you couldn't very well undermine the general, unless you wanted another mutiny.” 

“Yes, circumstances demanded that I hold my tongue, however difficult it was, but with Adams, I'm not sure. I don't want to hold back, and I know if I hear one more rumour about my mother in daylight I'm not going to be able to restrict myself to diplomatic words.” 

He sighed deeply, and joined John against the backboard, slumping on his shoulder. “How can I defend myself without attacking Adams? I won't care in the morning, I know this, but I've been thinking about it for hours, and I think I should hold back on this instance, too.” 

John felt Alexander's head dip onto his shoulder, and he quietly touched Alexander's hand. “If you feel differently in the morning, I'll temper you. And then I'll defend you myself. I have very little to lose - what can that fucker do to me? I'm the son of Henry Laurens. All he can do is challenge me to a duel and kill me. Nothing to worry about.” 

John felt Alexander's nails cut into his hand as he clung on, squeezing suffocatingly. “Don't say that, Jacky. You have no idea how fucking terrified I was during that duel. I would've rathered to be up there myself than risk you.” 

“And I was perfectly happy with how it was,” John stated bluntly, curving Alexander's fingers around his, threading, slinking. 

The skin over the last joints of his middle and index finger was worn and hard, always. No matter when John had gazed at or touched his hand. Sometimes, after a fresh essay, the area was reddened, hot, as if Alexander's passion was steaming through his skin, slipping through the pen, diffusing into the ink. 

“I understand your desire for honour, and your duty to justice, but that doesn't mean it doesn't worry me. At times. I have faith in you to survive, but it's often challenged by how needlessly reckless you are in battle.” 

“What, just like you? I heard how you charged at the British in Yorktown, you know. Didn't you set your men doing drills as the British were firing upon you?” 

“They were only using short-range weapons! Not one of my men were injured,” Alexander defended himself. 

“Not to mention when you used that obese man to shelter from an incoming shell.” 

“John, that was instinctive! At least I didn't decide to charge head-on with an outnumbered force at a British patrol who knew you were coming. And getting almost fatally wounded.” 

“How - “ 

“Tadeusz wrote to me,” Alex explained. “Told me everything, since you were being less than forward with your correspondence.” 

“Traitor,” John muttered, but Alex barrelled onwards. 

“And you were barely sleeping too!” 

“I don’t need your fucking lectures,” John told him frankly, shortly, but Alexander’s expression only grew more concerned. 

“You’re not taking care of yourself, are you?” 

John felt the weight of Alexander’s head lift from his shoulder, his now - direct gaze heavy on John’s face. He could tell dawn was coming - he could pick out the outline of Alexander’s pursed lips, the cleft in his brow. 

“I’m doing fine,” John told him, and squeezed his hand. 

“That’s not enough,” Alexander declared, clearly not satisfied by his reply. 

“Do you always have to be so pushy?” John asked wearily, but with a teasing lilt to his voice. 

“I’m not pushy!” Alexander protested, and his face drew a little closer to John’s. “I only care about you - is that such a despicable thing? I’m thankful for Tadeusz writing to me occasionally so I at least know you were alive.” 

“What did he say? I might as well know the extent of his betrayal.” 

“Oh, about how you were leading the Negroes, how you pacified a rebellion, how you fought in battle.” Alexander paused. “He said that you only talked about me when you were drunk or exhausted.” 

“He was my right hand man. I wasn’t going to babble about my personal affairs to him.” 

“You don’t tell your personal affairs to me, either. So who do you talk to? Your siblings?” 

“Not so much anymore.” 

“Nobody?”

John thought about it. “I suppose.” 

“Talk to me.” 

“I’m tired.” 

“You’ve gotten plenty of sleep already,” Alex argued back. “What are you so scared about? We’ve known each other for years, Jacky. Please, tell me more about you - like back in the war, when we were faced with overwhelming numbers against us, and we were only clinging onto tiny shreds of hope. You always used to tell me something intimate about yourself before we threw ourselves into battle.”

“And if we survived, you’d tell me something about yourself later,” John murmured out, completing the memory. “I missed that when I was in the South.”

“So let’s do it again,” Alexander urged. “You told me earlier that you’ve fucked up enough. I don’t see how you could think that. You’re one of the most admirable people in my life, independent, eloquent of speech and dress, skilled with a sword and pistol alike, and most essentially, the best friend I’ve ever had. I love you dearly. If you ever opened up to anyone, I want it to be me.” 

Alexander raised John’s hand to his lips and pressed his lips to the back of it softly, sealing his words. 

“Your tongue is as flattering and slick as ever,” John muttered back, as if his heart wasn’t rattling desperately, relentlessly against his ribcage.

He hated how Alex got to him. 

He felt Alexander’s smile against the back of his hand before he dropped it with a chuckle. “And you’re as resistant as ever, I see. Will you ever let go of that stubbornness?” 

“I might,” John said slowly, rubbing his thumb along the side of Alexander’s hand and focusing on his welcome, warm weight against his side. “You’re very persistent.” 

“To say the least,” Alexander agreed instantly. “Does that mean I’m finally getting through to you?” 

John tilted his head to rest on top of Alexander’s, letting out a deep breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at ease, so relaxed, like comfort was beginning to seep through Alexander’s skin and into his bones. 

So he started speaking, actually speaking from the depths of his chest, feeling the secrets vibrate up his breastbone. 

He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to tell Alex until he heard himself saying it, a flow that began with stories of his siblings and childhood, the pressure of prestigious law studies, the pressure of his uncommon passion, the stress of his father realising before him that women just wasn’t his thing. Alexander had to have heard many of his memories before, but he stayed alert and silent throughout every one, occasionally chuckling to himself or commenting a thought or two. 

John, to his shock, even told him in detail about how hard he had to fight the South Carolina House Of Representatives to get his black regiment plan approved, about what bigoted fuckheads were elected. 

It was one of the few times Alexander interrupted him. 

“You’re amazing,” he breathed out, and squeezed John’s hand. 

Alexander never let go of his hand, not once, not even when John’s warm palm was damp from the recollections. 

Exhaling, John closed his lethargic eyes, feeling exhaustion weigh down his limbs and mind. 

“I’m too tired to go on.” 

“I want to memorise it all,” Alexander told him steadily. “We’ll continue another night. For now, some sleep would be greatly appreciated.” 

John nodded, and finally lifted his head off of Alexander’s, his neck clicking in complaint. He quickly sunk down into the sheets, and hardly a second passed by before he felt Alexander’s arms curl around his back, dumping half of his body straight onto John’s side. He didn’t mind. Alexander was short for a man, he was lean, and the extra weight and warmth was comforting. 

They rested, John listening to their combined breath puff out into the night. 

“Jacky?” Alexander whispered, and John could feel his rapidly fluttering heartbeat on his skin. 

“Mm?”

“Do you still love me?” 

“Why do you think I’m here?” Jacky replied dimly. 

He felt Alexander’s smile spread against his neck, mouth brushing his skin tenderly. The pulses of Alexander’s heart began to slow.

“Thank you,” was his last whisper of the night. 

John sensed Alexander stretch, extending himself further up beside John, and once again, John didn’t protest when Alexander kissed the edge of his mouth, loving and soft. 

He settled back down into his original position, hooked into John’s side. Alexander's body was warm, but John shivered at his touch. 

They stayed that way until the morning, curled up in each other, soft in the midnight air. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer : i believe john adams and hamilton were on okay terms at this time since he did train in his son to be a lawyer but listen i have no excuse for not changing that except exhaustion god knows hamilton pissed enough people off  
> if you think alex's being a little selfish you're absolutely right but I aim to have a chapter soon (probably the one after next) to explain what the fuck is going on in his head (an almost impossible task...)  
> next update will depend on my free time and motivation so y'know.... two weeks to three months-ish  
> as a final word, fuck you, education system.
> 
> (for some reason the notes from the first chapter are below, i have no fucking idea why??)


	4. Six Feet Under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> john realises a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year and new beginnings my dears  
> i am sick and stressed but hey hope y'all enjoy this chapter it was fun to write

_ "'Tis a very good thing when their stars unite two people who are fit for each other, who have souls capable of relishing the sweets of friendship and sensibilities..." _

—-

For the third night in a row, John woke up with Alex next to him. 

It had been almost a week since the challenge of a duel. Three nights with Eliza, and three nights with him. An even split. John wondered who he was going to spend the fourth night with. 

How was he justifying this to Eliza? Was she really that patient and understanding? 

Then again, they weren’t doing anything - much, John amended. They only kissed if both of them were tired and their will weakened from a trying day, which was more often than John would like to admit. 

But he’d be damned if he allowed it to go any further. 

Still, every time he felt Alex smile against his mouth, it became harder and harder to stop himself from letting his palm slide underneath Alexander’s clothes, to cuddle as close as they could possibly get, no clothes involved. He already missed the touch of Alexander’s skin. 

Sitting up, John pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, as if he could physically push out those thoughts. He gazed down at Alexander, slumbering open-mouthed, drool staining the pillow below him, and John couldn’t help smiling. Sleep was one of those few times he saw Alexander completely relaxed, slack and empty of any vocal words. 

He still couldn’t bring himself to lie back down beside him. 

Extending a hand, he cautiously touched Alexander’s cheek, fingers lighter than a fairy’s caress. If only it could be like this every morning, without the shame, without the danger, the consequences. If Eliza had never come into the picture, how many mornings would they have had together before one or both of them were murdered? 

Maybe it was for the best that Angelica had introduced Alex to Eliza - maybe if she hadn’t, John would’ve had to live through the pain of Alexander dying, too. 

However hard he tried, John couldn’t get the invasive, parasitic thought out of his skull, and he clasped his hands together, the night causing them to tremble. He knew better than anyone how easy dying was, how simple death worked, how it didn’t care how good of a person you were, it was all just chance, random chance, no destiny or fate, and John’s luck had been corrupted, twisted against him. He hadn’t died. 

John turned away from Alexander, hunching his arms to his chest, his shoulders shrinking in on themselves. Exhaling onto his hands, he shivered, a hopeless line from one of Alexander’s letters pushing its way into his consciousness. 

 

_ Every hope of this kind, my friend, is an idle dream. There is no virtue in America.  _

 

His finger traced the fading bruise on his neck. Life, liberty, and property. Three principles that all of the founding fathers stood for. The pads of his fingers caught the healing bruise, so hard that it stung. 

Ownership. 

He glanced over at Alexander, who was still soundly passed out, his fingers curled around the edges of the pillow delicately. 

He was beginning to think that perhaps Aaron had a point. 

——

As always, when Alexander woke, he left quickly. 

John was buttoning up his undershirt as Alexander lurched upright, gaze rapidly sharpening as his alertness flooded back. 

“What time is it?” 

“Almost ten, I think,” John answered, securing the last button. 

“Fuck!” 

Alexander chucked the sheets off of himself, stumbling on sleep-worn legs to the uppermost drawer where he’d stashed his clothes. John kept that drawer empty. 

“Some place to be?” John comments, watching him speed- dress, padding over to Alex. 

“Yes - do you recall the conference I was telling you about? That’s on in an hour, and I still have to finalize some arguments regarding the importance of the integration of Tories back into our new economic system.” 

John held up his jacket, and Alexander slipped into it with a quiet murmur of thanks. “What about you? Any word back from King’s College? I can’t imagine them refusing you.” 

“I’m expecting a response within the next few days,” John answered, and Alexander bent over the dresser, rustling through John’s clothes. “If not, I’m going to attend the lectures regardless, and demand to know why my application was refused, along with some threatening.” 

Alexander snorted, holding up a coat, letting it unfurl freely down into the air. “I have no doubt that you would find someone to fight over honourable grounds, John. And here - I think this would suit your outfit.” 

He held it out, and John turned, feeling Alexander’s breath on the back of his neck as he fitted his arms into the plush sleeves. Straightening out the flaps over his chest, he sensed Alexander loop around to his front, gazing thoughtfully at him for a moment. 

“That one’s a little low,” he said, outstretching a hand and gently tugging one side downwards, patting at the opposite one over John’s breast with a warm palm, securing the position of the skewedly folded ruffles by his neck. “There.” 

He stepped back, and John could breathe again. 

“Don’t you have that conference on in an hour?” John reminded him, and the expression of severe alarm on Alexander’s face was almost comical. 

“Son of a bitch!” 

Within a few dashed steps, the door was swinging shut behind him. John left out a huffy exhale of amusement, sitting down on the bed’s edge to pull on his socks. 

He had to admit, he enjoyed mornings like this. Alexander was off to defend the previous Loyalists, he could smell the rich scent of bacon from downstairs, hear Philip’s teetering steps in his playroom, and if he concentrated, Eliza’s gentle chuckle. 

Closing his eyes, John tried to imagine himself staying here permanently. Him and Alexander as best friends and nothing more, him being genuinely happy for Eliza and Alex, Congress finally hearing his pleads for emancipation and acting upon it. His daughter and Martha, growing up together, teaching her about the earth, about the society around them, about the country being reconstructed around their ears. 

John opened his eyes. 

He couldn’t stay here. 

—

“According to this, we had already sent out a letter. You didn’t receive it?” 

John Laurens looked blankly at the woman for a moment before shaking his head. 

“I’m living with a friend for now, perhaps I made an error in the address.” 

The woman’s eyes chipped downwards, past her sagging chin to scan over the document again. 

“Twelve Garden Street?”

John closed his eyes. “I did. I must’ve gotten his law practice address and home address mixed up. Apologies.” 

“Well,” she said, standing up with a slight waddle to tuck the record back into a massive cabinet. “It should be there, whenever you want to collect it from your friend. It has the identification you will need to register properly for your chosen course.” 

“I assume it’s safe to say that my application was successful then?” 

“If the letter goes out to you, you’re in, darling,” was the response as she made her way back to the rickety chair behind the untidy desk. 

John had to repress a grin, closing his eyes peacefully. He was finally going to study what he actually wanted to. 

“Thank you,” he told her, rising from his seat. “I’ll be back soon to confirm my place.” 

She send him off with a friendly wave and a wish for luck, and John’s spine was still tingling with glee when he reached the front entrance. 

Now, which was the quickest way to Alexander’s firm? 

Mentally mapping the route out, John followed it, and within half an hour he was standing before the blockish, square building which held Alexander’s practice inside. He began to step up to the door, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

“Ah, John, are you seeking Alexander too? I had no idea you were back in New York.”

John turned to Washington, his surprise obviously showing through on his face, for Washington let out a chuckle, squeezing John’s arm with his strong fingers. 

“Are you honestly surprised? Alexander has done quite a lot of things - and said even more - this morning. As usual, I have to mediate him,” Washington sighed out, his thick brow pulling together as he ringed a hand around the back of his neck. “I just pray that he’s here and not elsewhere when he’s enraged.”

“He did mention a conference to me this morning,” John agreed, folding his hands behind his back. “I’m assuming it didn’t go Alex’s way?”

Washington’s head quirked to the side subtly. “Now when did he tell you that?” 

“I’m staying with the Hamiltons temporarily, until I can find accomodation of my own,” John answered, and the corners of Washington’s mouth tightened. 

John braced himself, but Washington only shook his head, clearly holding in another sigh.

“Do you know Alexander’s whereabouts by any chance then?” Washington questioned, and John shook his head. 

“I’m only here for my acceptance letter from King’s College. I’m afraid I can’t help you, but I’d advise searching in the park, or someplace dark and secluded. He likes to brood in appropriate places.” 

“It’s Columbia College now,” Washington corrected, resting his hand on the doorknob. “And thank you, but I still think I’ll check here first.”

He opened the door, and John followed him in, casting an eye over the plain, functional surroundings. Three chairs to his left, opposite the curved receptionist desk topped with a vase of delicate purple asters. The receptionist, leafing through the newspaper, glanced up, and looked like her lungs had gotten stuck in her voice box. 

“Mr. - President! It is an honour to have you here!” she spluttered out, rising from her seat in respect. 

Washington, unsmiling, waved her back down into her seat. “Please, no formalities. All I want to know is if Hamilton is here or not.” 

“I don’t believe he is, but I'll check, just to be certain.” 

As she scampered off, John made his way to her desk, scanning through the idle files and bits of paperwork for a certain letter. 

“If the letter arrived, wouldn’t Alexander have given it to you already?” Washington commented, and John shrugged, rifling through the drawers. 

“I believe so, but he’s an occupied man. It’s possible he just overlooked it, or perhaps the secretary never mentioned it to him,” John theorised, crouching down to reach the lower drawers. 

Washington’s dark eyes drifted over to him. “Should you really be searching through her desk? I’m sure if it’s there she’ll give it to you as soon as she gets back.” 

“Yeah,” John agreed, and continued rifling for a second more, spotting a white corner sticking out of a pile of unopened bills. He tugged it out, and sure enough, his name was on the envelope. “Ah, found it.” 

Washington frowned, but said nothing more. 

Just as he was straightening up, the secretary bustled through the far door. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. President, but there’s no sign of him anywhere. He is scheduled to meet with a client tomorrow, however, if you want to…” 

She caught sight of John walking back to Washington’s side, confusion flashing across her face.  “Can I help you with something?” 

“Thank you, but I’m sorted now,” John told her, holding up the letter. “This is for me. I gave the wrong address to King - Columbia College.” 

“That doesn’t entitle you to go through my desk, I’m afraid,” she pointed out, voice hardening. 

John shrugged. “I didn’t want to waste your time.” He gave her a wide grin. “I’m sure you’re kept busy, being Alex’s secretary.” 

Her eyes narrowed for an instant as she rounded back behind her desk, probably at the use of Alexander’s shortened name. “Who did you say you were again?” 

“John Laurens, m’lady.” 

Her expression cleared in a flash, and she even left out a little exhale through her nose. “That explains it. Mr. Hamilton has told me many times about how impulsive you are. However, I’d appreciate it if you never did that again.” 

“Of course not,” John assured her, raising his hands. “To ease your mind, I didn’t look at anything but the unopened letters.” 

She gave a short, resigned sigh, but left it at that, turning her attention to Washington again. “I’ll let Mr. Hamilton know that he should visit you immediately as soon as he steps through that door.” 

“Thank you,” Washington acknowledged, and John dug his thumb into the top of the envelope. 

They walked out, John ripping across the paper with his blunt nail. He unfolded the letter, reading through it as they made their way down the street. A grin spread across his face. 

“I start next month. As long as I have the paperwork in.” 

Washington clapped him on the back. “Did you ever doubt that you’d get in?” 

“No, but it’s always nice to get a confirmation,” John responded with a smile. “If I’m being honest, I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get the chance to challenge anyone to a duel.”

Washington chuckled, veering off of the main street. “Someday you’ll learn how to relax, Laurens. In the meantime, there’s plenty of men in this city who would gladly face your gun.” 

“Do I hear the President of the United States promoting violence?” 

“Towards the right people.” 

The truth of the statement sunk into John, and his feet slowed for a moment. Washington offered no follow-up topic, and a few minutes were spent in amiable silence, the distant cries of street merchants winding around the buildings. 

John wasn’t sure where Washington was heading to, but he himself had nowhere to be. 

“Even his secretary knows you,” Washington commented eventually, and John shrugged again. He didn’t need context. 

“I suppose.” 

With a discreet glance around, Washington put a hand on his shoulder, stopping them both on the pathway. 

“Sir?” John asked, and Washington shook his head, lowering his voice despite the hollowed-out street around them. 

“John, you do know that I trust your judgement, but staying with Alexander and Elizabeth…”

Washington left the sentence there, and it was too easy for John to fill in the blanks. 

“It’s the practical decision,” John replied simply. “My intention -“

“Your intention can be as pure and innocent as you believe, but the outcome is the same, whatever your intention,” Washington interrupted sharply, voice hardening. 

John’s shoulders heightened, the bottom of his heel grinding down against the concrete. “I know that. And I think you should already know that both of us would never do anything to hurt Eliza. Alex loves her and Philip with all of his heart.” 

Washington looked at John for a second, and somehow his gaze was the heaviest John had ever felt, adding to the stone guilt hanging from his ribs. 

Still, he tried once again. 

“You’re assuming that we’ve done a lot more than we -“

Washington held up a hand. 

John kept going. 

“- we actually have, we don’t want to ruin his marriage-“

“John.”

“- it’s not like - like it can happen, ever, so what would be the point of…” 

John suddenly found that he couldn’t speak any more, and he felt Washington’s palm rounding his shoulder. 

“John, son, I’d advise you to open your fucking eyes. You already know everything I’m going to tell you.” 

Closing his eyes, John’s arms crossed his body, hugging himself as a shudder rippled through his body. “I know. We both know.” 

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but he realised that arms were surrounding him, a steady, warm chest to his. 

“I’m sorry son, I truly am,” Washington said gently. “Nothing can be crueler than circumstances you can’t change.” 

John said nothing, and shivered in his arms. 

——

Alexander arrived home in a fury, but a despondent one. John recognised the signs easily enough -  his lowered gaze, the unnatural awkwardness of how his hands moved, if at all. 

John glanced across at Eliza, who was currently holding a spoon to Philip’s resolute mouth, and a silent understanding passed between them. Clearing his throat, John turned his attention back to Alex, who was brandishing his fork as if it was a scythe, slicing through arguments and steak alike. 

Shoving the meat into his mouth, Alexander began to chew vehemently, catching John’s stare.

“What is it?” 

“I’m going to ask you the same question,” John responded. “How did the conference go?” 

Alexander’s lips thinned as he crushed the steak beneath his teeth viciously. 

“I’ll sum it up in one word first ; petty. These men are determined to only exact revenge on people who were trying to save their businesses and families, and they seem to have no empathy or logic at all. They appear blind to the detrimental effects they’re having on the economy, prosecuting the very traders which keep the port of New York going - how else are we going to get money to rebuild our cities, pay our soldiers?” 

Alexander heaved a sigh, leaning the palms of his hands against his forehead, elbows on the table. 

“Something needs to change - their attitude, or our main source of revenue, neither of which will be receptive to any alteration. But-!” Here Alexander’s head snapped up, eyes sharpening. “If I create a national banking system, perhaps we won’t need to rely on them so much. However, the first port of call, so to speak, will definitely be trying to reason with the public opinion, make them at least tolerate the Tories, if not welcome them.” 

“Those are big aspirations,” Eliza started, her hand rounding his shoulder. “And if you were anybody else, they’d be nearly impossible. But I know you, and you can achieve anything you put your mind to.” 

Alexander gave her a tired, but grateful, smile, holding his shoulders a little taller. “Thank you, Eliza. I know my own abilities well, but your faith in me always makes things so much easier.” 

John dropped his gaze to his plate and chewed on his carrots. 

As if on cue, Philip began wailing, and Eliza hurriedly turned back to him, attempting to soothe him with her lowered voice and gentle back rub. Alexander set down his utensils and rose from his seat, crossing to the other side of where Philip was seated. 

He picked up Philip and held him close, nestling his face into his neck. “I wish I could create a fair world for you to grow up in. I wish good men could try just a slight bit more, not be so cautious, not still their tongue as if they were scared the devil might cut it out.” 

Philip quietened down, fingers fascinated with Alexander’s neck-ruffles, and Alexander smiled. 

“Speaking of scared men, Washington was looking for you today,” John mentioned. “Something about healing something you said at the conference this morning?” 

“He found me,” Alexander replied, giving John a watery, but mischievous, grin over Philip’s shoulder. “I had to issue a few apologies, but no harm done. It’s not like I care about what those little petty men think of me.” 

“Alexander,” Eliza warned. “I hope you didn’t tell Washington that.” 

“Of course I did,” Alexander declared haughtily. “He knows how I feel about John fucking Adams.” 

John snorted, and Eliza sighed. 

“A little diplomacy goes a long way, Alexander.” 

“I know you’re right,” Alexander sighed out, smoothing over Philip’s curls. “But it’s ridiculous, some of the shit they come out with - you should hear it, it’s beyond nonsensical. To hold my tongue is an impossible task.” 

“As I said before, you can cheat the impossible,” Eliza reminded him, laying a hand on his arm. 

Setting Philip back down into his seat, Alexander made a face at Eliza, sticking out his tongue. “Does it look like I can stop this mouth?” 

“It’s under the control of your brain, isn’t it?” Eliza asked, raising her eyebrows. 

“Explains why it’s uncontrollable,” John mentioned, and Alexander scowled at him, returning to his chair. “I’ll have you know, my brain is one of my best aspects, and I won’t stand for you insulting it.” 

Eliza’s lips parted, shaped in an amused smirk, to answer, but all that came out was an enormous belch. John stifled his smile as Eliza’s entire face turned red, clamping her hands over her mouth in horror.

“I’m so sorry - sometimes this happens! I didn’t know it was coming up!” 

Alexander didn’t even bother to hide his amusement, leaning over to her with a wide grin. 

“Ah, and so the champion belcher makes a reappearance. She’ll give both of us a run for our money, John, wait and see - or rather, hear.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” John reassured Eliza, giving her a sympathetic smile. “But I’m down for a contest anytime, just so you know.” 

Eliza’s shoulders lowered, as did her hands, and revealed, to John’s relief, a slightly less embarrassed smile. “I will keep that in mind, John, but for now I think I have to go to the ladies’ room.” 

She started to stand up and wobbled, grabbing the edge of the table for balance. Alex hopped to his feet hastily, hand outreaching in mild alarm.

“I’ll help you there,” Alexander told her, taking her arm. 

“Please excuse us, John,” Eliza said to him, and John forced out a smile. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m a lodger, not a guest.” 

“Will you take Philip to his playroom?” Alexander called out, and a servant quickly emerged from the kitchen, coaxing Philip out of his seat. 

John was left alone and without an appetite. 

Laying his cutlery down on his half-full plate, he got up and headed to his room. 

——

John fidgeted absently with his quill, bending it and flexing it around his fingers, the danger of snapping it far from his mind. 

He could die tomorrow. 

But it wasn’t dying that unnerved him - it was the simple fact that he could bleed out next to the ocean without one word of contact to his daughter. He had written to Martha occasionally, and had always received a lot more correspondence than he gave, to his shame. And yet, he still couldn’t think of a single word to break the blankness of the page. 

“Fuck,” he muttered out, dropping his forehead down onto the pristine page. “Fuck.” 

He had so much he wanted to say that he couldn’t say any of it. His fingers curled around the hair at the back of his head, in an unconscious attempt at soothing, and John felt no less disheartened. 

After two or so minutes thinking and unmoving, John finally raised his head, sighed, and pushed his chair back. Crossing his room, he slipped out into the corridor and barely bothered halting before pushing the next door open. 

“Alex?”

Alexander was clearly buried deeply in his essay, his head turned away from John and bent close to his desk as he scribbled onwards, odd wisps of brown hair clinging to his shoulders. Without hesitating in his flow, Alexander answered. 

“Yes, John?” 

“Can you -“ John faltered, and Alexander glanced up, his eyes creasing in suspicion. 

“What is it? Why are you hesitating?” 

“Can you help me write a letter to my family? You’re better at this sort of shit, emotional language and stuff,” John told him, and Alexander’s eyes grew soft. 

“Of course I will, Jacky, but don’t expect to give you any more than some small tips. It has to come from you yourself to be any value to them.” 

“I understand that,” John replied, his finger tapping against his thigh. “I just have no idea how to express myself to them - I struggle even writing to you at times, and now I’m drawing a complete blank.” 

Alexander nodded, setting down his quill and rising from his desk. “I have that sometimes too. Here, let’s go into your room, and then we’ll talk when we have the paper in front of us.” 

“If I hadn’t actually witnessed you not being able to write, I’d call you a fucking liar,” John commented, glancing around the study, gaze purposefully loitering on the many stacks of used paper. 

“I’d disagree, but I can see where you’re coming from.” Alexander smiled back his reassurance, touching John’s elbow softly. “Come on.” 

John led Alexander to his room, Alexander immediately walking over to the desk while John shut the door behind them. 

“What do you want to say to them?” Alexander asked straight out, taking up the many scribblings John had crossed out. His eyes scanned downwards, absorbing the small, deft sketches of Martha’s face, but only her smile was properly fleshed out. 

John looked over his shoulder. “I can’t remember her face much - but her smile is still clear to me.” Alexander only nodded, and flipped over the page. 

“How old is your daughter? Frances, right?” 

“Yeah, Frances,” John told him, pulling up another chair to the desk. “She’s seven now.” 

“Have -“ Alexander paused, lowering himself into John’s chair. “Have you thought about rejoining them in London? Or perhaps them moving to New York or South Carolina?”

John sat down heavily in the other chair, clasping some pages from the desk in his hands, avoiding Alexander’s eyes. “Of course. But…” 

Alexander waited. 

“It’s only her, Frances. She’s living with her aunt. Martha died four years ago.” 

John’s voice, however slow and steady he had attempted to keep it, quivered. 

“Oh, Jacky…” Alexander whispered, covering his hand.  

John held the pages up nearer to his face, an unconscious barrier, but droplets still showed on the weathered parchment. 

“She was only three, Alex, and she had to grow up without a mother - or a father,” John said lowly, hearing his voice shake. “I should’ve returned to her as soon as I heard, or at least as soon as the war was over. But I - I thought that maybe if I avoided her, pretended I didn’t exist - maybe I would die, and then I wouldn’t hurt her anymore.” 

John raised the back of his hand and smeared it furiously across his eyes, the paper crumpling in his sweaty hand. Alexander shifted nearer, interlinking his fingers with John’s firmly. 

“What do you want to say to her, Jacky, since you’re still alive?” 

“I want to apologise. I want to tell her about her mother, and how witty and intelligent she was,” John answered quietly. “I mightn’t have loved her like that, but there were reasons I slept with her, Alex.” 

Alexander’s eyes flickered away, just for an instant. “I understand.” 

With his other hand, he selected a quill, rifling out another blank page with some difficulty, since one of his hands was still squeezing around John’s. 

“Where do you want to start?” 

John shifted his chair closer, laying their interlocked hands on his thigh as he leaned over the desk, shoulder brushing against Alexander’s. 

“I guess… Hello, Frances.” 

Alex started to lower the quill, but stopped, handing it across to John’s free hand. “You should write it.” 

“Have you seen my handwriting?” John asked dryly. 

“Yes, it’s shit. What’s your point?” Alexander shot back. “You’re writing it, or it’s meaningless otherwise.”

“She won’t know,” John pointed out flatly, but he took the quill with a soft sigh. “Fine. How did I fucking start it again?” 

“Hello Frances. That’s it. Write it.”

“Isn’t that too friendly? She doesn’t even know who the fuck I am.” 

“No, now start writing before I shove that quill into your neck.”

“That would be preferable to this,” John muttered, and Alexander gave him a dirty look out of the corner of his eye. 

“You’re the one who asked me for help with this, so I’m not allowing you to leave this desk until we’ve got this letter finished and ready to send to your daughter.” 

John immediately rose to his feet, and Alexander’s grip on his hand increased tenfold, rolling his eyes. 

“Don’t be childish, John.” 

John sighed heavily, but lowered himself back into the seat, slumping forwards. “Fine.” 

With a bit of encouragement from Alex, he began to craft his letter. And the more he wrote, the easier it became. He told her about her mother, how they met, how well they got along, and his sorrow at her passing.

Two pages. 

He asked about her schooling, her aunt, her friends, her interests. 

Three pages. 

He told her about his own hobbies when he was young, his longing to dissect and discover the world around him, vying for any opportunity to understand nature better. 

Five pages. 

John paused at the top of the sixth. “I don’t think I should tell her about the war yet. She’s only seven.” 

“It’s up to you,” Alexander answered, and squeezed his hand. At some point, he’d gotten a quill and paper of his own - even while aiding John, his mind could never be still. Now, his left arm was laying across his lap to join his fingers with John’s, and yet he displayed not a single sign of discomfort. 

“I won’t, then,” John decided, and dipped his quill in the ink pot. 

He continued on, telling her about his family, all the aunts and uncles she never met, her grandmother, her wealthy grandfather. About how much he regretted her not meeting them. About how much he regretted not getting in contact with her sooner, or ever seeing her. About how much he yearned for her to visit him here - about despite how much as he wanted to leave America, he couldn’t. 

The apology was the hardest. John molded his knuckles against his temple, staring at the eighth page. How the fuck was he supposed to explain his absence for seven years? 

He could try - the hard battle towards emancipation, war, duty to his country - but he found them falling limp, weakly holding up to his morals. 

Sighing, John touched the nib to the page. 

 

_ I pray one day you may be able to forgive me for being absent your whole life. If you never do, I understand.  _

 

_ With my unconditional and complete love,  _

_ John Laurens. _

 

John chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, then crossed the ending out. 

 

_ With love,  _

_ Papa.  _

 

He gazed at it for a minute. 

It fitted. 

It occurred to him that even if she did choose to call him Papa, she would never call anyone Mama again.

“My own mother died when I was sixteen,” John spoke out, loud and hollow, surprising even himself. “Yours when you were only twelve. Aaron’s when he was two. And now even my own daughter had to live through that. She still is. And I wasn’t there.” 

His voice straining, John tried so, so hard to stop the tough knot of grief from spewing out of his throat, but he couldn’t. His own sob sounded harsh, gasped, reverberating in his skull. 

He felt Alexander’s arms clasp around his back and hold him close, fingers running down the back of John’s neck, sweet, low murmurs of comfort dripping into his ear. 

“It’s not your fault, Jacky. It’s not your fault in the slightest. And you survived, didn’t you? What if you had perished in the war and she had no father either?” 

“She’s had no father for all of her life either way,” John said tiredly, breath clumsily clutching at his lips. “Dying really would’ve been the easy way out for me, wouldn’t it have been? It’s such a simple but genuine excuse.” 

Alexander’s fingers gripped the back of his neck. “You always seemed to welcome death, but I hate you speaking like that, Jacky. If death had taken you too -“

“Isn’t our shared perception of death what binds us?” John commented tiredly. 

“More than that binds us together,” Alexander whispered, giving John one last, firm squeeze of his arms, then sitting back with somber, soft eyes. “Jacky, I imagine death on a daily basis - hourly, even, in my childhood - and it bemuses me at times why you have such a similar fascination with it. I grew up amongst the dead and the dying, but your background is so vastly different from mine.” 

“We all experience death, whether we’re born privileged or poor,” John answered quietly. “I’m not trying to undermine the struggle you went through, but in terms of death, there are no lines. Before he was even two, Aaron had lost nearly all of his relatives. My brother died a child under my care. We can all understand death.” 

John took Alexander’s hands in his once again. “That’s why we understand each other.” 

Alexander’s glinting eyes surveyed him for a moment, fingers curling through John’s and sending pleasant warmth through his body. 

“We understand each other through a lot more than just death,” Alexander told him, thumb massaging the side of John’s hand. “Our beliefs, our hopes and dreams for this country - everything we’ve been through together, all of it - every single battle and duel we’ve won and lost and strained through - it’s shaped us, Jacky. To boil our friendship down to a mutual experience and view of death would be an injustice.” 

“Just our friendship?” John asked flatly, and Alexander bent forwards, his voice barely above silence. “You know I mean more than friendship.” 

He touched his forehead off of John’s, a gesture of the innate intimacy he had no qualms to admitting to - only not out loud. John understood. 

His chest still hurt. 

Closing his eyes, John returned the affection, resting his forehead against Alexander’s briefly - only for a heartbeat. His lips were already too close. 

“May I ask you something personal?” Alexander requested, almost as quietly as he’d spoken previously. 

John leaned backwards and emitted a hard chuckle. “When have you ever asked for permission before inquiring about something personal? It’s me, Alex.” 

Alexander gave him a smile, but it was an unsteady one with cracking, trembling edges, and all the amusement drained out of John within a second. He frowned, squeezing Alexander’s hands softly. 

“It’s fine, Alex. Ask your question.” 

Alexander’s jaw tensed. 

“Jacky, why did you sleep with Martha?” 

John angled his head up towards the ceiling, and shrugged. “My father had been hinting at her for some time, since she was his assistant, he knew well how strong-willed she was, and that we would get along brilliantly. He was right - we did, and when she made a move on me after a couple of months, I just… didn’t object, really. I thought maybe if I tried sex for myself, I’d see what all the fuss was about. An experiment, more or less.” 

“And?” Alexander was sitting forwards, brow furrowed. 

John lifted a hand in a dismissive wave. “I understand the physical pleasure, that was a given, but I didn’t feel any more intimate with Martha until we began talking afterwards. That’s the only reason I slept with her again - that, and it also seemed to make her happy.” 

John watched Alexander’s eyes crease up. 

“You… faked loving her?”

“No, Alex.” John didn’t bother softening his voice. “I loved her, but not in the way I love you.” 

He saw Alexander’s adam apple shift, doubtless pushing down a painful knot. “Is that why you never told me about her? Why I had to find out from a letter that wasn’t even for me?” 

“The subject never came up.”

“We were together for one and a half years!” Alexander blurted out, hands rigid in John’s. “We shared the same damn bunk! And in all that time, in all those early-morning talks, you never thought to mention something as vital as this?” 

“Are you,” John began wearily. “Are you angry that I never told you, or because they exist?” 

He got him. Alexander’s eyes narrowed, and he looked away, his nails biting into John’s skin. “It annoys me that you didn’t trust me enough to share an important detail about your life,” he said finally, gaze returning to meet John’s steadily. 

John lifted a hand and touched Alexander’s cheek, smiling somberly. “I hope that’s true.” 

Alexander closed his eyes, the palm of his hand covering John’s, gently flattening it against the side of his face. “It is. I’m not that selfish, John. I’m grateful that you have a daughter to carry on your legacy. I love you, not the idea of you only belonging to me. I understand that you love others too. I just hope that I won’t become scared that you’ll stop loving me.” 

His grip on John’s hand increased. 

“Alex-“ 

“I’m sorry,” Alexander spurted out, abruptly shaking off of John’s hand and standing up with a single lurch upwards. “I promised to bathe Eliza now - she’s getting quite bad contractions lately - and time lost me.” 

“Thanks for helping me with the letter,” John called out to him as he hurried to the door, and Alex paused at the door, turning back to smile at him. 

“I barely did anything. That was all you, John.” 

With that, he made his exit, and John was left alone with eight front-and-back pages of a letter to his only daughter. 

Rising from his seat, he made his way to the few items still left in his suitcase, flexing the hand Alexander had held so tightly slowly. His left. He knelt by the suitcase and began ruffling through his clothes, patting the lining for what he knew he put there. He felt it quickly, a hard, square box tucked into the corner. Digging it out, he knelt back on his calves and rested it on his thighs as he opened it, fingers quavering just the slightest amount. 

A plain silver band shone out at him, and he didn’t hesitate any longer, slipping it onto the fourth finger of his left hand. 

Placing the box back into the suitcase, John stood, gazing at how the light itself seemed to be captured within, curving around his finger. He had to admit, Martha had made a good choice of the rings, despite all the stress they caused her, despite John never seeming to pick the right one. He smiled faintly, letting the memories drift through his mind for the first time in years as he sat there, looking at the simple, pretty ring. 

He only registered that he was crying when a tear sunk into the corner of his mouth, bitter and sticky. 

For the first time in four years, John felt like a widower. 

\------

John slipped by Alex in the early hours of the morning, hearing the insistent scratch of his quill within his study as he passed by. As it turned out, he hadn’t spent the fourth night with either of them. 

He didn’t know if Alex remembered about the duel, but it was well before dawn, in any case. 

John hadn’t slept. 

It was a bad time for it to come back, the insistent shuddering of his hands, the vibrant, alive memories of his soldiers collapsing around him, dozens by dozens, rampaging around in his skull. 

He had to stop by the end of the stairs, his hands crushing in on his skull, wishing for it to end, anything to clear out the clattering of gunshots, the shrieks of men being gutted groin to sternum by unforgiving blades. John was barely aware of his mouth opening, but he managed to stuff a hand into his mouth before the cry swelled from his lips. 

He took it away after a few seconds, the wet imprint of his teeth throbbing in his skin. 

His inhales juddering along his sternum, he made his silent way to the front door. Taking the key from the table beside the door, John held his quivering breath as he slowly slipped it into the lock, turning it deliberately. The click seemed to boom through the house, rippling through the timber, and John shut his eyes, concentrating. 

A few seconds passed, and no sound answered. 

John cracked open the door. Burning cold air swept over his face, like ice chilling his skin, and John instinctively took a sharp breath as he slipped outside, his eyes crinkling into thin, protective slits. Gliding the key into his shirt pocket, he cautiously shut the door again, with hardly a whisper of wood. 

He let his breath out, and it hung in the air for a moment, tiny icicles glimmering, before the wind  swirled it away. Exhaling again, John swiped his fingers through his visible puff before it vanished, as if trying to curl it up in his fist. 

His fist was still shaking as he lowered it back down to his side. 

Shit. 

Making his way through the dim night - early morning ? - John focused on his breathing, in line with his slowed footsteps. An old trick. 

Left foot, inhale. 

Right foot, exhale. 

Repeat. 

By the time he reached the main market square, the dusty sky had shed some more misty light on the path beneath his feet, and he was feeling calmer, although still on edge. He supposed that was a good thing, considering he had a duel in a couple of hours. 

The howling wind returned, causing John to shiver in the deserted square, tucking in his arms around his torso for warmth. A flutter by his right foot drew his attention, and he picked it up, recognising yesterday’s newspaper header on the pathetic scrap. 

September 24, 1784. 

Perhaps September 25th will be his death date. 

“It’ll be interesting to see if my luck from the war has continued on,” John muttered to himself, pocketing the dusty sheet. 

He wandered on, counting his steps and waiting for dawn. 

—

At some point, he stopped. 

He wasn’t sure why, but it was similar to when he backed away from the canvas and just knew - there was no more to be done to the painting, sketch, whatever. A natural halting. 

John grabbed another sheet of old newspaper off the street, briskly patted off all the dirt, and sat on a doorstep. 

He took out a pencil and began to draw. 

—— 

“Lovely drawing. That’s your buddy Hamilton, isn’t it?” 

John’s face cracked upwards so quickly that the back of his head banged loudly off of the door behind him. Groaning, he rubbed the back of his throbbing skull and glowered up at - 

Oh. He knew her, the angled cheekbones, the lips, pursed but now bare of any coating, thin shoulders covered up by a weighty shawl. 

“Sylvia,” John said slowly, almost a question as he surveyed her. “What are you doing here?” 

“I live near here,” she responded, bending over to John and craning her neck. “And you’re the most interesting thing I’ve seen around here in quite a while. Are you hosting art lessons, by any chance? I’ve a sister who doodles.“ 

“No, I’m not,” John replied crisply, folding away the shard of newspaper. “Why are you out here so early? Dawn must be still at least two hours away.” 

Sylvia clicked her tongue, straightening up and examining John with shrewd brown eyes. “You know what they say is true, no rest for the wicked. I don’t just work nights, honey. I’ve been co-running a bakery right down there for years.” 

She inclined her head to the side, some disarrayed curls dangling out of her bun just behind her ear. “I’ve never seen you around here before, and especially not this early, so what’s your tale, sweetie? John, wasn’t it?” 

“You remember?” 

Sylvia belted out a laugh, hands set on steady hips. “Hard to forget when a man I tried to get custom from breaks up the entire place within an hour, gets one of the scummiest men so enraged that he challenges you to a duel, and then vanishes.”  

John raised an eyebrow. “It was for a good reason.” 

“Everything’s a good reason or an excuse when you’re drunk, no?” 

John shook his head firmly. “They’re filthy slavers. They deserve to die.” 

“And I suppose I’m just a filthy prostitute then, hm?” 

John looked at her sharply. “You aren’t defending them, are you?” 

“I’m just saying that one deed doesn’t define someone,” Sylvia amended, and gestures to the space beside John. “I hope you don’t mind me joining you. There’s still a few hours until opening time, and I rarely find company around here.” 

“Sure.” 

John shifted over, and Sylvia sat beside him, stretching out her legs and hooking one ankle over the other. 

“I’m surprised you recalled my name,” she commented, and John shrugged. 

“Not too many prostitutes go for me. Or ladies in gener-“ John cleared his throat. “I mean, because I usually wear my wedding ring.” 

Sylvia cast a lethargic eye over to his left hand. “So you decided to be faithful?” 

John’s fingers furled up slowly into a fist. “It’s too complicated to get into.” 

“You could just say that you don’t want to tell me about your personal issues,” Sylvia told him, and jostled their shoulders together. 

John managed a diluted smile. “Both are true.” 

“But you seem even more depressed than the last time we met,” Sylvia observed. 

“I’m about to go into a duel. I may die.” 

“Mm, I somehow doubt that’s it.” 

“How come?”

“You’re not fidgeting. You’re not nervous, or restless at all, or appear to be panicking. You’re only still and sad.” 

John’s lips tightened. “Am I that transparent?”

“Oh, darling, no. I’ve just become quite skilled at reading men’s body language. Tool of the trade and all that. Get into their heads first, and getting into their purse and pants is a whole lot easier.” 

She let out a soft chuckle, and John joined her, his mouth quietly cracking into a low grin. “I’m afraid if you’re looking for money from me, you’re wasting your time.” 

“Oh, don’t fret,” she assured him, patting her own hair. “I already took your ribbon, didn’t I? I’m only looking for some company - but if you ever need  _ company _ , I’m more than happy to help.” 

She winked, and John snorted. “Don’t hold your breath.” 

“Mm, I’m assuming the missus is back, then?” Sylvia guessed, and John shrugged, twisting his ring around to watch how the clouds morphed in the reflection. 

“Not exactly.” 

He paused, wondering to say more or not. 

“Do you have a man?” 

Sylvia shrugged, her shoulder ghosting against John’s, and even her bones felt thin. “I have potential suitors, of course, but I don’t have time for them. I have two sisters relying on me, and I’ll be damned before either of them have to work the nights like me.” 

John thought of his own sisters, and then them drifting frivolously around a bar, being passed from dirty man to slaver. His chest constricted. 

“Sylvia-“ John started, his hand slipping down into his pocket. 

“Sarah. In the daylight I’m Sarah.” 

John’s fingers clasped around a few idle coins, and they jingled together in his palm as he pulled them out. Sylvia - Sarah - rolled her eyes as soon as she saw them. 

“I’m not a pity mailbox, John. I don’t want charity.” 

“I’m a spoiled child living off of his father’s money,” John told her, dropping them into her lap. “Think of it as a little bit of equalizing society.” 

Sarah picked them up and threw them out onto the street with a clatter, like tiny horseshoes clinking on the stone. “Then you won’t miss them.” 

John stared at them for a moment, then huffed out a short laugh, amused. “You have a point.” 

“The war orphans are always arrive here first,” Sarah said lowly. “They’ll make good use of it.” 

“I’m sure.” 

A few moments of silence, as they both gazed at the silver and gold splayed out in the cracks, beginning to shine in the faint, pastel light. 

Sarah spoke first.

“So who is your daddy then? This rich guy?”

John hesitated. “Henry Laurens.” 

Sarah whistled. “Damn. Do you have any more money on you, by chance? I saw a carriage for sale that caught my eye yesterday.” 

John glanced over at her, and her lips curled up in a smile. “I’ll marry you just to get my hands on that carriage, mark my words. Watch out, Mr. Laurens.” 

John bumped his shoulder against hers. “Thanks for the warning, Ms. …”

“Lewis,” Sarah supplied. “Shame you’re married. I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long sitting beside a man without him trying to grope me.” 

John had to laugh, the sound rolling and echoing down the hollow street, but his smile quickly faded. “That’s a terrible reflection of this society.” 

“But funny, no?” 

John’s eyes flicked over to Sarah, and her face was glowing. She really was pretty, and stripped of makeup, all of her blemishes showed clear, her reddened cheeks marred with small scars and bumps. John’s eyes wandered downwards, taking in a flick of white from just below her chin drawn diagonally across her neck, almost to below her ear. 

His eyebrows twitched, and Sarah carefully reached up a hand, deliberately adjusting her cloak to settle over the scar. 

“Don’t worry,” John said quietly. “You didn’t press me for any personal details. I’m not going to ask.” 

Her gaze stretched away from him, up into the rapidly paling sky, and she stood. 

“I’d better get moving, Johnny. Business waits for no man, and sadly, no woman either. Try one of my scones sometime, will you?” 

She smiled at him, and John felt his shoulders relax again. 

“Only if it’s free.”

“Oh no, I’m charging you full price, rich boy.” 

“This isn’t how you attract customers,” John told her, and Sarah nodded. 

“You’ve told me multiple times that you won’t be my customer anyway.” 

John inclined his head to the side, and smiled. “Sounds like we’re in agreement. I guess we’ll meet the next time I’m about to challenge death, because I won’t be a customer of yours in any sense.” 

Sarah regarded him for a second, her face draining of any lightness as she spoke. 

“I’ve seen that man in action, in many different situations. I always used to steer clear of him for a reason. Don’t let a man like that kill you.” 

“I don’t intend to die, but we’ll see what God decides,” John answered, and Sarah nodded again somberly. 

“How about if you survive, I’ll give you a complimentary teacake?” 

“Thought I wasn’t going to be a customer of yours.” 

“If it’s free, it isn’t a service. Are you really turning down free food? You must be richer than I thought.” 

John shrugged, gazing up at the sky and realising that there were pastel streaks across it, only interrupted by the white wisps of clouds. 

“Thanks, Sarah. I’ll drop by sometime.” 

When he dropped his gaze, Sarah was smiling. 

“Goodbye and God bless,” she told him, waving gently before turning away. 

“Farewell,” John called after her, eyes dipping to his wedding ring.

“Pray for me,” he murmured, as his hand sought the cool handle of his pistol. 

—

John turned the letter over in his hands only once before depositing it into the mailbox, closing his eyes to steady himself. 

From the slightly less biting frigidness of the air, it was less than an hour to the duel. 

John could hear people stirring in the houses around him, the sleepless troubled and the productive facing another fresh day. He began to make his way towards the dock, this time having to weave around the occasional pedestrian on the path. The odd clap of horseshoes resounded from nearby streets, chatter beginning to pick up as the businesses started preparing for the day. 

As he headed towards the arranged location, he couldn’t help himself from glancing around, back over his shoulder, listening for a stray shout or excited steps of short legs. 

By the time he reached the dock, he’d sworn to himself to only look ahead and nothing more. Casting his eye around the dock, he saw only fishermen gearing up for the day. 

Oh, what a surprise, the king asshole wasn’t here yet. 

John settled down beside a pile of caskets, tried not to retch at the foul smell, and then moved to a new place quickly afterwards. 

He squinted, and saw a figure sauntering across to him, badly illuminated in the dusty early morning light. The outline was fuzzy, and hope only rose in John for a stifled heartbeat before it dimmed yet again. That gait was measured, every step cautious, like he was stepping on bullets. 

John waited for Burr to reach him. 

His clothes were impeccable, and his elegant shoulders sloped, emitting a relaxed, easy demeanour much like a coiled snake. 

John looked at his face, and not a dot of exhaustion could be seen. 

“Aaron? Why are you here?” 

“For support, of course,” Burr smiled. “Good morning to you too, John.” 

“Morning. How did you find out?” 

“Quite easily, in fact. You weren’t exactly subtle at the bar, either of you. Do either of you know of the phrase ‘reckless words is the predecessor to all needless conflict’ ?” 

“I can’t have heard of a saying you invented only now, and if you regard this as needless conflict you might as well leave,” John responded. 

“It will catch on, since it’s true,” Burr answered confidently, peering at the opponent’s group. “I presume you’re duelling the biggest and most brutish one of those?” 

“Obviously,” John muttered back, his pistol jittering slightly in his palms. 

Where was Alex? 

Burr cast an eye down to his hands cupping the gun, and his eyebrows quirked upwards in surprise. 

“Did you renew your wedding vows by any chance, John?” 

“Ah-“ John’s left hand clenched around the muzzle of the gun. “-I suppose so. Of sorts.” 

“I couldn’t ask for a vaguer answer,” Burr responded. “But if it’s private to you, I understand completely. Let’s just focus on the duel for now.” 

John cast a sideways glance to him. “How did you know I was married in the first place?”

“You mean apart from the very obvious ring around your finger?” 

“You asked if I’d renewed my vows, not if I had married.” 

Burr clicked his tongue. “You never let anything go, do you, John?” 

“Stop stalling and answer my question.”

“If you must know, Alexander told me, right before you left for South Carolina to recruit your battalion.” 

John pressed his lips together, feeling the pressure on his teeth. “Why did he do that?” 

“He needed advice, and that detail was necessary,” Burr said simply. “There’s no need for you to worry. I never spoke of it again to anyone.” 

John turned his gun over in his hands. “I know you wouldn’t. I suppose you think worse of me now, knowing I still haven’t returned to my family.” 

“John,” Burr replied, with a short chuckle. “I stole away my wife from her former husband. I don’t think I’m in a position to judge your decisions.” 

John smiled sadly at him, finally opening the barrel and reaching into his pocket for the bullets. “You were there for her, weren’t you? That’s more than I can say.”

Burr chuckled again. “It was a slight bit easier for me to see her. We didn’t have the Atlantic Ocean separating us. As usual, you’re being far too harsh on yourself.” 

John sucked in the side of his cheek, teeth gnawing on the inside restlessly. “I don’t think so.” 

“If you did think so, I wouldn’t be saying that you’re too hard on yourself.” 

John raised a hand and thumped his fist into Burr’s shoulder, and Burr’s disapproving expression actually did make him feel a bit better. 

“Shut the fuck up Aaron.” 

“Ah, the classic ‘ you’re right but I don’t want to admit it,’ response. Very mature, Laurens,” Burr grouched, rubbing his sore arm. 

John only grinned at him as he clicked another bullet into the chamber. “Perhaps you’re right, perhaps you’re not.” 

“Either way, you’re childishly going to deny it.” 

John stuck out his tongue in response, and even Burr’s lips curled up in amusement. He made sure that Laurens got an excellent view of his middle finger before glancing to the sky, dropping his hand. “Looks like dawn’s almost here.” 

“Wait. Alex still has to get here.” 

“Alright. I suppose we can catch up while we’re waiting - like the story of how exactly you got yourself into this situation. I’ve only heard unreliable second-hand accounts so far.” 

John closed his eyes. “What did you hear?”

“That you lost it in a bar and began a brawl with a whole group of slavers,” Burr told him, the disapproval weighing heavy in his voice. 

John cracked open his eyes simply to roll them at Burr. “I know it was reckless, etc. blah, blah, but it was satisfying, Aaron. Justice. They deserved everything they got and more.” 

“Just continue the story,” Burr said evenly.

John filled him in, all the time glancing over his shoulder, eyes flickering over the length of the dock, as far as he could see. Burr noticed, from the quiet, pensive scrunch of his mouth, but chose not to comment. 

“To summarise, you wasted a perfectly good glass of whiskey,” Burr started, lifting a hand in a circle to demonstrate his dissatisfaction. 

“I think I put it to better use than getting drunk,” John argued back, and Burr had to concede with a little smile and a nod. 

“Well, all that’s left to do is wait and see how this plays out.” 

—-

“He’s late.” 

The wind’s chill scorched through John’s hair, September carrying the early bite of November, and he had to suppress a shiver. Could the asshole have picked a colder place than the fucking docks?

“He’ll be here,” John assured Burr, and Burr only nodded slowly. 

“It would be unusual for him to be tardy unless something major surfaced,” he commented, and John shook his head. 

“Everything was fine when I left this morning.” 

“Could he have fallen asleep?”

“I doubt it. When he’s enraptured by his writing, it’s hard to -“ John paused, swallowing dryly. 

Burr glanced over to him. “Yes?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t wait for him any longer,” John said flatly. “Aaron, will you be my second?” 

“Of course,” Burr responded, clapping a hand against John’s shoulder. “But let’s wait a little longer. It’s not like Alexander to forget about a duel, and even less like him to forget about you.” 

John nodded his half-hearted agreement, wishing he could be as sure as Burr. A cloud of the stench of decaying fish floated past them, and John had to bite his tongue to stop himself from gagging. Glancing across at the other duo, he only saw one option. 

God, if this man killed him he’d be so pissed off. John vowed that if he became wounded, he’d grab his knife and plunge it into the fucker’s eye before dying. 

At least then he’d die happy.  

—

“Aaron, will you confer with them? We can’t wait any longer,” John requested, watching how swiftly the sun’s light was creeping golden and slow over the waves towards them. 

Burr got to his feet, nodding his agreement. “Of course. I trust that the man over there is the doctor you hired?” 

“Yes. I’ve set up the duel according to the rules, even if that asshole hasn’t,” John assured him. 

Burr nodded, and began crossing the expansive, desolate field of concrete. John hated it. He preferred having grass beneath his feet, something alive. Everything here felt cold, dead, and the sensation was beginning to seep into him too. 

He watched as Burr calmly spoke with the other’s second, and he couldn’t help wishing for the sight of Alexander’s dark ponytail whipping in the wind instead. Absently, he tapped the steel of his wedding ring against the muzzle of the gun, shivering in the frosty waves rolling in from the sea, impatient for this duel to be over with. 

Burr returned to him soon enough, and he only gave a quick, sharp nod to indicate the beginning. John strode forwards, and so did the burly man in front of him, stopping just shy of a foot away. 

“I guess it’s time for you to make good on your promise to put a bullet through my skull,” John commented offhandedly, slinging an infuriating, crooked grin onto his lips. 

His opponent’s clear blue eyes narrowed, but that was all the anger John could perceive, to his surprise. Maybe the last time they met, the man was a lot drunker than he appeared, unable to curb his temper. 

Staring at his blank expression, John felt his nerves shift in unease. 

“Are we doing this or are you just going to stare at me?” 

John barely held himself from jerking back in surprise, and he shook his head. Enough thinking. 

“Fuck no. Let’s do this.” 

With a curt nod, the trader turned his back on John, who followed suit a second after. He closed his eyes and listened to Burr’s counts, stepping firmly with each number called out. 

Nine. 

John opened his eyes. 

Ten.

The trigger felt warm against his finger, as if it had already been pulled. 

——

John expelled his breath heavily, and he lowered himself down, sitting cross-legged on the ground as he watched the doctor scramble over to his crumpled opponent. He didn’t know where he’d hit him, if he was dead or just wounded. John also found that he didn’t particularly care. Reaching for his folded coat, he slipped it over his shirt, part of his waistcoat darkening with blotches. 

His side stung. 

Footsteps sounded beside him, and John’s face snapped upwards quickly, despite knowing very well those weren’t the swift, purposeful steps of Alex. 

Burr held out his hand. “It’s only me.” 

John turned his face away, ignoring the hand. “Is he dead?” 

“He will be soon enough, if he isn’t already,” Burr informed him. “You struck him almost dead in the heart. I’d say you likely cut an artery, from how rapidly he was bleeding out.” 

John wasn’t sure what to say to that. 

“Guess I haven’t lost my touch from the war,” was what he settled on after a pause. 

He heard Burr sigh, and a hand came down on his shoulder. “He was a despicable man, one who resold free Negroes back into the system. This is a victory.” 

John spread his fingers, drumming them along the gun in his lap, the last flecks of smoke being coughed out from the muzzle. 

“Someone else is just going to replace him. To make a worthwhile difference, I would have to murder all of them.” 

“Perhaps the next ringleader won’t be so ruthless,” Burr suggested, squeezing his shoulder. 

“And perhaps he’s more,” John answered dismally. 

“Perhaps,” was all Burr said. 

A spot of silence, both blankly observing the group crowding around the bleeding man. 

“You might want to make yourself scarce, before one of them decides to take it upon himself to serve his own idea of justice,” Burr warned, and John shook off his hand. 

“It doesn’t matter. Maybe they should. Then I’ll be able to legally kill of them.” 

“Knowing when to quit is as important as winning the battle,” Burr calmly responded, facing him and once again holding out his hand. “Get up, John.” 

After a few moments, John took his hand, a wince shuddering through his body as he unfolded himself up off of the hard stone. As he straightened up, John’s side throbbed again, and Burr’s eyebrows lowered. 

“Are you hurt?”

“It’s a graze,” John replied shortly. 

Burr lifted his eyebrows, and slammed an open hand into John’s side. Inhaling abruptly, John’s entire side seemed to split apart, and he almost doubled over, cursing Burr between raggedy, laboured breaths.

“What - the  _ fuck _ \- you absolute anal  _ worm- _ “ 

“That’s not a graze. I’m taking you to the nearest doctor,” Burr decided, taking swift hold of John’s arm. “Now, I think Rodger Street has a practice that will be open at this hour - or if your opponent is courteous enough to die quickly, there might be a free doctor right there soon.” 

“I’m fine,” John protested loudly. “The only reason I winced was because you literally punched me! If I decided to give into my temptation and batter in your face right now you’d feel pain too - and a lot of it, I’d guarantee that.” 

“Drop the act,” Burr told him sharply. 

“I can take care of it myself,” John responded edgily, and shook his arm free. “I appreciate the concern, but-“

He was interrupted by a yell, one urgent enough to break John’s building irritation. 

“John Laurens! Message for you!” 

John looked over, and there was Alexander’s servant, hurrying across the dock with a cloak clutched around their shoulders. 

“What is it?” 

“Master Alexander sends his deepest apologies for his absence,” the servant gasped out, face flushed, and John offered them a handkerchief. 

As they dabbed their face clean of sweat, they babbled out the next part quickly. 

“His wife entered labour early this morn, and therefore could not be present at this duel.” 

John felt his eyes widen. “Eliza’s in labour?” 

“He sends on his best wishes and to quote, if you’ll excuse the foul language, to ‘Break that fucker’s skull open.’” 

John had to smile at the last comment, seeing even Burr give a small chuckle from the corner of his eye.

“Already done,” John assured them. “Will I be of any help if I return to the house, or only in the way?” 

“It’s your decision, but if you’ll excuse me, I must return to Master Hamilton.” 

“Of course.” 

John watched them go, eyes squinted. 

“What are you going to do?” Burr questioned, gaze dropping to John’s side. “After you get your injury checked out.” 

“I told you that it’s fine,” John answered abruptly, gaze shifting into a glower as it flicked over to Burr. Sighing, he looked away again, back into the direction the servant had headed off in. “I don’t know. I don’t think Eliza would want me around while she’s during childbirth.” 

Burr patted John’s shoulder, rotating him deliberately towards him as his eyes scanned the coat covering the damage he knew was there. “I agree with you about Eliza, but I think that witnessing a birth - or even a newborn baby - is something everyone should experience. Be there, even just to wait outside. I may even trail along after you to congratulate Alexander and Eliza.” 

As he spoke, Burr’s gaze darted off to the side. Following his sight, John saw his opponent being carried away by his mates, limp with limbs dangling loosely. The doctor rose from his knees somberly, blessed himself, and John already knew the result. 

“There’s a doctor free right over there,” Burr mentioned, grasping John’s arm with a force that didn’t match at all with his lighthearted tone. 

John’s shoulders slumped, and he allowed himself to be steered towards the newly idle doctor, letting his hand slip underneath his coat to splay over his dampening shirt. 

By the time they reached the doctor, John was breathing heavily. 

The doctor, tall with fuzzy ginger hair, examined him and sighed. “You too? And here I thought that there had been more than enough bloodshed.” 

Something felt thick underneath John’s soles, and he glanced down to see collections of crimson sticking to the sides of his shoes. 

“I’m sorry for your trouble, but he deserved it,” John said simply. 

“Can you look at his side?” Burr requested, stripping John’s coat away with firm hands. 

Shivering, John glanced down at his torso, noticing how the bright red had gradually spread, conquering more of his white shirt. 

“It looks worse than it is,” John told the doctor as he unbuttoned his shirt, and Burr gave him a little disapproving look. 

“Let the doctor be the judge of that, John.” 

John rolled his eyes as he slipped off his stained shirt, handing it to Burr as the doctor bent towards his wound. Looking down, John grimaced. 

To him, it appeared like the bullet had pierced his side, but not with the full width of the bullet, so it was a graze of sorts - just a lot deeper. 

“It seems to have gone through - you must have luck on your side,” the doctor commented, fingers prodding at John’s torso, cleaning away the blood gently. “Pass me the alcohol - we don’t want it getting infected. It’s in my satchel beside my feet.”

Burr fetched the brown bottle and handed it to the doctor, who promptly splashed it onto John’s wound. Despite expecting the pain, John inhaled rapidly through clenched, jarred teeth. Fuck. 

The doctor wrapped a bandage around his torso and sent him off with strict instructions to take it easy, obviously don’t strain his side, be careful, all the advice John already knew and had already totally ignored. 

“Heading straight back to Alexander’s?” Burr asked, and John shrugged. 

“Childbirth is a messy business. Not sure if I should or want to be there.” 

Burr looked up at the fully brightened sky as they ambled back towards the town, his hands settled peacefully in his pockets. “It depends. Being there to support them shows you care about their family.” 

“I suppose Philip may need minding.”

“An extra hand never goes astray, trust me.” 

“Then I’ll go back and help out in whatever way I can.” 

Burr inclined his head. “I’ll accompany you back.”

——

Eyes wandering, John glanced at a signpost, firmly hammered into the small, square lawn in front of a house. 

For Sale. 

He must’ve slowed down, for Burr nudged him, following his gaze. 

“Ah, a fine creature, isn’t it? It must be expensive, though, being so close to the centre.” 

John stopped altogether, staring at it. A thin structure, shouldered in between two brasher, bolder houses with barely a sliver of an alley between them. It shivered underneath John’s heavy gaze, the elegant window carvings squirming as he spoke. 

“Yeah. It must be.”

Burr regarded him for a moment, eyes dark. “Price doesn’t matter to you, does it?”

“No,” John said slowly. “I suppose it doesn’t.” 

He began striding ahead again, and Burr, lips pressed together, continued after him.

——

John arrived back and was immediately flung into babysitting. A distressed-looking servant was hurrying along the hallway with a wet cloth in hand and Philip toddling along after them absently. 

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” John told them, and the relief on their face was immeasurable. 

“Thank you!”

They disappeared up the stairs in a rush of clacking heels and heavy pants. As John recalled, they only had about two house servants- likely run off of their feet by this stage. 

A scream sounded, and John winced, picking Philip up. He wormed back and forth in John’s grasp, trying to get free, but John held him firm. 

“Come on Philip, I’m afraid your parents are a bit too busy at the moment to pay attention to you, so cooperate with me, yeah?”

Philip gave no indication of having heard, never mind understanding, his arms extending towards the floor, kicking his legs against John’s stomach. Sighing, John steadied him on his hip and began heading towards his playroom, hoping for some toys to help keep him occupied. 

As he nudged the door open with his foot, another wretched scream ripped through the house, and Philip stilled in his arms. 

“That’s the sound of your sibling being born,” John said to him, rocking him carefully. “It’s a good sign that she’s screaming, trust me. It’s a lot scarier when the mother’s quiet.” 

Philip’s worried expression didn’t ease, and John spent the next few hours somehow managing to keep him distracted, until the screaming stopped.

John cracked open the door of his playroom, glancing around. Still, only silence for a moment - and then he heard it, the diamond-strong wail of a newborn. John smiled, looking back at a wide-eyed Philip. 

“That’s your little sibling, kid. They sound healthy. Stay there for a second, yeah? I’m just going to check if it’s okay for you to see them.” 

John shut the door firmly behind him before hurrying to Eliza’s bedroom, careful to listen for any signs of irregular childbirth, in case he intruded at a bad time. 

As it turned out, he didn’t have to judge that for himself. 

Alexander burst out of the door, face glowing with red and wearing the widest grin John had ever seen. His blinding eyes landed on John. “Jacky!! She’s here - she’s safe and healthy, they’re both alive and healthy! Isn’t this the most wonderful thing to happen?!”

He closed the distance between them in less than a second, John’s mouth stretching to match his ecstatic smile. Alexander threw his arms around John’s neck and squeezed them taunt quickly, laughing as John held him, smiling gladly.

John only realised Alexander’s lips were pressed to his after a heartbeat of warmth. 

The corridor. In the middle of a corridor, where -

“Anyone can fucking see!” John hissed out, practically diving back from Alex. 

He stared, and only saw the mirror image of his own horror carved in Alexander’s face, the joy draining away and blackening the boards beneath his feet. 

“Are you  _ insane _ ?! Your wife is in there, after having your second healthy child and you’re out here  _ kissing  _ me!” John had to hold himself back from yelling, from grabbing Alexander’s collar and shaking him. 

But from the look of frozen terror on Alexander’s face, he didn’t have to. 

“I didn’t realise - Jacky, please understand that I didn’t intend to kiss you I didn’t realise I was kissing you because it’s all so natural it all feels so fucking right with you!” Alexander babbled out, and John’s eyes narrowed. 

“I know. That doesn’t excuse it.” 

Alexander’s eyes deepened. “I was - am - so ecstatic about Angelica’s birth, I must’ve - must’ve lost myself for an instant there…”

He touched his lips, as if he couldn’t believe what they had done. 

“This is too dangerous,” John spoke hollowly. 

Alex looked at him, sharpness seeping into his eyes and replacing the shame. “Jacky, do you mean what I think you do by that?”

“More than likely. I’m moving out.” 

“What? You can’t, there’s hardly any decent places available and even with your father’s money it’ll be damn near impossible to find somewhere.”

“I’ll manage it. I’ve been thinking about it the last few days and I need to go.” 

“Jacky-“

“Don’t call me th-“

“AlexANDER!”

Eliza’s call was shrill, heightened, and John saw Alexander’s eyes widen, his eyes shooting from John to the door. His back foot was already retreating when John spoke blankly. 

“Go.” 

Alexander turned and fled back through the door he’d came from, as John knew he would. 

——

He returned sooner than John expected, barely an hour passing before he heard the squeak of his door handle opening, barely audible over the rain pelting against the window. John glanced numbly at it, at the clear cascading sheet rippling down the glass. 

It was going to be a rough night. 

He heard the patter and clack of Alexander’s shoes against the floor, and his jaw clenched, continuing to fold his clothes neatly into the case at the end of his bed. 

“What do you want, Hamilton?” 

“Ham - What the fuck, Jacky?!” Alexander blurted out, striding up to him and yanking at his shoulder, forcing him to face him. “What are you doing?” 

“I already told you that I’m fucking leaving,” John stated, the calmness he had aimed for fraying at the edges. 

There was a bang from the window, what John assumed was the wind catching the shutters, but Alexander didn’t seem to hear it. His face was pinched up, circular wells of concern examining John with a scrutiny he only ever experienced in the presence of his father. 

John rotated away, back to his suitcase. “If you’ve nothing to say, goodbye.” 

“Of course I have something to say!” Alex spat out, seizing John’s arm. “I have everything to say, almost too much to even begin saying -“ 

“Then say it so we can be done with this,” John said simply, staring ahead. 

“I don’t see why you’re so convinced that you have to leave,” Alexander began, squeezing his arm. “John - Jacky, look at me. Don’t be childish about this.” 

With a sigh, John faced him, but brushed off his hand. “State your case, Alexander, but I doubt that anything you say can change my mind.” 

“We’ll see,” Alex started determinedly, squaring up his shoulders, evening out his breathing, ready to defend his client. “I know why you think you need to leave, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for kissing you like that, it’s because I’m so elated about Angelica’s healthy birth. It won’t happen again, I swear.” 

John outstretched a hand and rested it on Alexander’s cheek, warmth soaking into his palm. Alexander covered it with his own hand, eyes bright and hopeful. 

“It’s not just that,” John told him bluntly, stroking his skin with his thumb softly. “I told you already, I’ve been thinking about this for days. Can you not see why I need to separate from you?” 

Swallowing, Alexander nodded slowly. 

“But I swear that if you stay, I won’t kiss you again,” He insisted, clutching onto John’s hand. “It’ll be like it was when we were only best friends. I don’t want to be unfaithful to Eliza. I don’t want this to be an ongoing thing -“ 

“Then why won’t you let me go?” 

John felt frustration bricking up his chest. Did Alexander really understand his situation as much as he let on?  

Alexander’s grip increased. “I’m terrified that you won’t come back.” 

“You’re being paranoid,” John said, pulling his hand out from underneath Alexander’s. “We are going to see each other again, even if it’s not planned - we’re going to run into each other at some stage.” 

“We’re both so goddamn busy,” Alexander pointed out, and a little bit of desperation seeped into his voice. “When will we have time, if not in the night?” 

“We’ll make time.” 

“You say that now, but you barely write to me, John! Stay here with us,” Alexander urged, his fingers gripping John’s elbow. “Please, Jacky.” He hesitated, burnt brown eyes creasing up. “I love you.” 

Something in John’s chest snapped. 

He jolted a step backwards, tearing Alexander’s grasp off of his arm, spinning around to turn his back on him. Snatching up another shirt, he stuffed it into his suitcase, finally filling it up to the brim. 

“Stop trying to convince me to stay, Alex! Do you know how unreasonable it is to ask that of me?!”

“This is unfair on both of us, but I can’t do anything about it! Jacky,  _ please _ understand - I can’t give either of you up-“

John thumped down the top of the suitcase violently, cutting him off. He refused to look at Alexander. 

“No! It’s unfair how you keep leaving me fall for you, kissing me over and  _ over  _ and yet you have a  _ family,  _ Alex! You can’t keep fucking indulging yourself like this!” 

Downstairs, the baby wailed loudly, and wind clattered against the shutters, shrinking John’s voice, but not his fury. He felt Alexander’s hand grasp his arm again, and he spun back around, placed his palms on Alex’s shoulders and shoved with all the strength he had. He only saw Alexander’s wide, shocked eyes for a moment before he was stumbling backwards jerkily, just barely keeping his balance. 

“Jacky, what the fuck?!”

“Don’t call me that anymore,” John spat out, clipping the latches shut firmly. 

He heard Alexander’s quick, light steps behind him, and his nervous gestures slid into John’s mind without any thinking, how his hands would be striking his forehead, his thighs, twisting around each other in anxiety. 

“We can talk this out-“ 

“We’ve tried, Alex!” John’s voice rose, almost to a shout, and he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“We haven’t tried enough!” was Alexander’s insistent plea, voice warbling. 

Alexander’s fingers closed around his wrist yet again, and John rotated his head so he could just barely meet Alex’s soft eyes over his shoulder. 

“Let go of me. I’m leaving.” 

His tone said it was final. 

“But -“

“No.” 

Alexander let go. 

“You can’t treat Eliza like this,” John told him, his voice breaking harshly from his lips. “You can’t pretend your obligations to Philip don’t exist, and you can’t treat me like this either.” 

He still didn’t turn around. Alexander’s silence was enough, overwhelming the noise of the wailing Angelica, overpowering the clattering shutters at the wind’s mercy. 

John heard him take a shaky breath. 

It reminded John that - for all his flowing prose, for all his intelligence, for all his initiative and ambition - he was still just a man in his late-twenties, trying to figure the world out. He had his flaws. 

John shut his eyes, taking in a deep lungful of air. 

Slowly, he turned around, grasping his quivering hands in his without meeting his eyes. “You know this is for the best.” 

John felt Alexander’s finger trace around his wedding ring. 

“I… know, Jacky. I know it is, but…”

John looked at him, and Alex’s eyes were watering. 

“Do you think I wanted this?” He whispered out. “Do you think I want to cheat on Eliza? I love her golden heart, but compared to you - you're….”

He faltered, lost for words. 

“I can't describe it. How I feel when I'm with you. With Eliza, I could. I could charm her into falling in love with me with pretty words. I don't know how I fell in love with you, because it sure as hell wasn't pretty words and enticing letters.” 

“It was…” 

John stopped. 

He didn't know either. 

It just happened. 

“See?” Alexander questioned, his tone almost begging. “How do you think I feel right now? You asked to come here, and of course I couldn't refuse you. All I could do was hope that this had faded, at least a little, with distance and your scattered letters-”

John winced. “I'm sorry-” 

“- but no!” Alexander finished, his voice growing, more and more frustrated with every syllable. He threw his hands up in the air, his fingers finding a knot in his loose hair and working it out furiously as he talked on fervidly. “The universe just loves to fuck with me, doesn't it?! I would've been content with you as my best friend! That's all I wanted! But now-”

John stepped forwards, suddenly very aware of the loudness of Alexander's voice. “Alex, shut up! You're being too noisy.” 

“- now we can never happen, and it's not fair on either of us! We shouldn't -”

Alexander was cut off by John slamming a hand over his mouth, his other hand at the back of his head to stop him simply from stepping back. 

“I know you're angry,” John hissed, face inches from his. “You don't need to tell me that life is unfair. But we don't need to hurt Eliza. It's better if she doesn't know, or suspect. She loves you, Alexander. Have a sense of honour. Treat her right.” 

John wasn't sure when the tears had formed on his lashline, or when an identical watering had sprung up in Alex’s eyes, mirroring his own. He stepped back, dropping his hands. 

“So this is it? Really it?” 

Alexander's words were dull, empty. 

John's breath caught on his sorrow, and he had to force out a nod, wordless. 

It was a minute before he could speak. 

“For Eliza’s sake.” 

“She doesn't deserve this,” Alexander whispered, shifting nearer to John, and taking his hands in his. “But neither do you.” 

“I'll be fine,” John lied, and withdrew his hands from Alex’s. “I nearly have a place pinned down in any case - I'll be able to move out soon.” 

Alexander's forehead creased up. “Alright.” 

Silence crashed down on top of them, flattening their tongues to their teeth and their gazes to the floor. 

“I'm gonna go -” John began, unsure of his excuse, but then Alexander broke in. 

“I also have to leave and attend to some things needing attention, if you'll excuse me,” he jabbered out, and his hands rose, pulling at the joints of his fingers. 

John stepped forwards and squeezed Alexander's shoulder, giving him a gentle smile. Maybe Alex would feel better if he pretended they were parting by choice, on amiable terms. The look in Alexander's eyes as John retreated told him that it didn't work, not after everything they've been through, not after how long they'd known each other. 

Alexander stood there a second, his excuse seemingly forgotten. His lips folded in on themselves, and he swallowed, fingers quietly swiping at the tears swelling from his eyes. 

John tried to summon words to his tongue and couldn't. 

“This is for the best,” Alexander whispered, and John suddenly couldn't stand to drag this out any longer. 

“Yes,” he stated, then began to walk past him, to the temporarily silent window. “It doesn't mean our friendship is over, though. I'll always be here - you know that, right?” 

He didn't turn around to see Alexander's reaction, but he could still hear it in his voice, hollow and dismal. 

“I know. Thank you for the reassurance, Jacky.” 

John didn’t have it in him to say any more.

He heard Alexander’s steps retreat back to the door. 

“One last thing.”

John glanced back at him. 

“Yeah?”

“Is John short for Jonathan?” 

John cracked a smile. “Fuck no.” 

They shared a light chuckle, one that sounded airy but the weight of it almost broke John’s chest. John turned back around, and so did Alexander. John stared at the window shutters as the click of the door closing clanged through the room. 

He stood there a moment, thinking. 

He wiped away a tear and returned to packing his things. 

——

John was passing Alexander’s study when he heard the breath. 

Alex never really cried - he sobbed, gasped as if his chest was breaking, and the only way he could contain it was if he inhaled hard enough to crush the sorrow back down again. 

John stopped, listening. 

Maybe he’d misheard, it was only a heavy sucking of breath before a sneeze or - 

Again. 

Closing his eyes, John Laurens reached out and curled his fingers around the handle. 

“Alex?” He asked quietly, and the room beyond went still. 

John waited with eyes dragging across the tarnished floor. 

“John?” came the unsteady reply, after a minute or so. 

“Yeah.” 

John pressed his lips together, and turned the knob. Before he could put pressure on the door with his shoulder, Alexander spoke up. 

“Ah - John, wait -“ There was a frantic shifting around, the dry shushing of paper on the other side of the door and a quick scrape of chair legs. “You don’t have to come in, as you said before we’ve already talked it out as much as we can and we’ve come to a decision about it -“

John pressed his shoulder harder against the door, swinging it open. 

“- there’s really no point or purpose to us talking any further- John!”

The door halted, a gap of about a foot between it and the frame. John pushed more forcefully, and Alexander held it steady, the tips of his fingers curved around the door edge. 

“Alexander…” John said lowly. “Let me in.” 

He eyed the gap, wondering if he could slip through before Alexander slammed it shut. It didn’t matter, though. 

John released the pressure on the door and moved through the space deliberately. Alexander didn’t close the door on him. John knew he wouldn’t. 

As soon as he turned to look at Alex, Alex rotated his face away, silently shutting the door with one flat palm. 

“My points still stand,” he told John, his voice threadlike, loose hairs obscuring his eyes. “There’s no reason for you to be here, or for us to talk. You’ve made your choice, and I respe - I respect that, and - and I know and understand why you’re leaving, s - so-“ Alexander’s fracturing voice finally choked up. 

He banged a fist against the door weakly, and John caught a glimpse of his lower lip, torn and ragged. 

Despite how they ached, John kept his hands down by his sides, fidgeting with his pockets. 

“We’ll see each other again,” John murmured out softly. “I’m not going away to war.” 

“You’ll do everything possible to die!” Alexander burst out, spinning to face John, his red-rimmed eyes wide and accusing. “And if I’m not there to haul your ass to a doctor - if I can’t be sure that you’re safe, it’s - it’s - I’m going to go insane, Ja - you’ve been here hardly two weeks and already you’ve been injured in a duel and it was a miracle you weren’t seriously wounded in that bar fight too! Burr told me all about it, and you’ve been even more impulsive than usual!” 

“I appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself,” John told him, and Alexander’s jaw set. 

“I know you can. I’m worried about you wanting to take care of yourself.” 

“I can do that too,” John insisted, and Alexander’s gaze grew mellow. 

He extended his hands and gently clasped John’s in his. They were so warm. 

“But will you?” 

John glanced away, but his fingers began intertwining through Alexander’s, almost by themselves. “I’ll try.” 

“You better, or I'll find you and beat you into caring for yourself,” Alexander swore, his tired eyes creasing up fondly. “Even if you’re in South Carolina, or London.” 

“I’ll still be in New York,” John reminded him, and Alexander nodded slowly. 

“Even so, I’ll miss our night-time talks.” 

“Maybe we’ll both have a semi-healthy sleeping schedule now,” John proposed, and Alexander’s mouth split into a smile. It damaged John’s chest, knocked his heart off-kilter yet again, that fucking smile. 

“With a baby on the scene, mine will be even more fucked up, so why bother trying?” Alex shrugged. “I can work off of two hours of sleep a day.”

John rolled his eyes. “You’ll look like Lee after the Battle Of Manmouth if you do that. Do you really want that?” 

Alexander grimaced. “How did he look so disgruntled when he didn’t even do anything? It’s a mystery.” 

“Cowards will always find a way to tilt the circumstances in their favour,” John commented, letting go of Alexander’s hands. Friends didn’t hold hands for that long. “Lee tried to make it so he did try in that battle, like he didn’t scamper away into the back lines screaming and whimpering.” 

“He didn’t have a chance at his trial, not with you and me there,” Alexander declared. 

John felt himself slipping back into memory - the worst possible thing he could do at this stage. 

“Yeah,” was all he said, and Alexander’s face dropped, eyes skimming over the marks on the floorboards. 

“I’d better get back to work,” Alexander said dimly, and John nodded.

He took a step forwards, arms open in an offering, and Alexander stepped in, accepting. 

“Take care of your family, and yourself,” John told him, winding an arm around his neck. 

He felt Alexander nod against his shoulder, arms tight around his back. “And you better treat yourself right, Jacky, or I’m coming for you.” 

John turned his face to press his lips to Alex’s jaw, inhaling softly. “You know that I’m doing what’s best for us both by leaving, right? You don’t have to remind me.” 

“I know,” Alexander whispered back, squeezing John closer. “I’ll just miss you so much.” 

John’s answer stuck in his throat, and Alexander stiffened at his hesitation. He detached from John before he gave him a reply, giving him a half-smile. 

“I’ll see you around, John.” 

John nodded again, flat and mechanical. 

“Yeah.” 

Alexander returned to his desk, and didn’t watch John leave. 

\--

Alexander watched John walk down the path, loaded down with suitcases. He’d refused Alexander’s offer of help. Maybe it was just his pride, a declaration of independence, or maybe he didn’t want Alex knowing his new address. 

Alexander’s chest hurt, and all he could recall was dashing out of their wartime tent barefoot and barely clothed, to find John, to drag him back. 

It was worse when he’d tried and failed. 

John veered down the street, and Alexander lost sight of him. Leaning against the doorframe, he sighed, gazing softly at the passer-bys for a few moments. 

Eventually, he stepped back and shut the door, mind already turning to Eliza and Angelica. The birth was hard on her, and he wondered if she was awake yet as he drifted down the hall. Infant footsteps sounded on the floorboards, and Alexander turned to see Philip, followed closely by his minder for the day. 

Tottering up to him, Philip grinned and held out his hands. “Yo Papa!” 

Alexander's eyes folded at the edges, and he smiled down at Philip, lips wavering. Scooping him up into his arms, Alexander held him close, hearing his happy babble against his ear, attempting to fight back the stinging in his eyes. 

He rested his lips against Philip’s forehead, just below that little pale crest of hair beginning to curl up at the end. 

“I love you,” he whispered out, and Philip gurgled.

——

Expensive wasn’t always a bad thing. 

As he suspected, the house hadn’t been sold, and the owner was more than happy to take half the asking price straight up and a promise from the son of Henry Laurens. 

John dumped his suitcases in the bare bedroom - skinny, like the rest of the house - with two storage dressers on either side of the bed. He immediately rearranged it, shoving the side of the bed to the wall to rest underneath the window. The feet of the bed wailed as they scratched across the floorboards, an unpleasant noise that shook John’s bones. 

He stopped the pushing, and found that the silence was even more unnerving. 

So he started pacing, walking around the house until the floorboards felt like his, moving until he’d unpacked everything. Bending over his new, smaller desk, he struck a match and lit up a candle, sliding a book out of the drawer. He gripped it firmly, squinting at the title, and wondering when it became so dim in the house. 

Sitting down at the end of his bed, he supposed it was a good thing. He’d spend less time trying to get to sleep if he was exhausted. However, as he settled back and slung one leg over the other, he only felt his regular old weariness. 

John sighed lightly and cracked open the book. 

——

Two sharp, commanding knocks rose to John’s ears, impossible to dismiss as a random noise. Tensing, John put down the book and made his way to the front door cautiously, eyes narrowed. He hadn’t told anyone his new address, but perhaps it was simply the owner back to check up on something or other. 

He opened the door. 

“John, my boy!” 

“Father?” John repeated in shock, staring at Henry Laurens’ blue eyes, rosy cheeks, now sagging with age, and impressively straight nose.

His father swooped him up into a close embrace, his hand gripping the back of Laurens’ neck with a caring firmness. “It’s so good to see you, John. To know my sense of foreboding was wrong. You’re alive, you impudent kid.”

“I am not impudent,” John mumbled into his shoulder, his shoulders relaxing. “You called Alexander that too, and look at him now.”

“Being successful does not take away one’s impudence,” Henry declared with a good-natured chuckle, withdrawing to hold his son by the shoulders, scanning him up and down. “That goes for you too. I heard you’ve become quite the lawyer.”

“I suppose,” John admitted, then straightened up. “In my spare time I’ve been studying the latest discoveries of science. Dr. Edward Jenner recently published a paper on how cuckoo babies shove their host’s eggs out of the nest - did you read it? It’s fascinating, to know where all the eggshells we see on the ground came from, and why. Terrible, but interesting.”

Henry clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me all about it when we’re inside and sitting down, son. I’m an old man now, and an old man needs a chair and a good cup of tea without all the hassle of a tea party.”

John cracked a smile as he led him to his modest sitting room, and his father flopped into the comfiest armchair. He always did have a talent for picking the most luxurious of everything.

“You hardly came all this way just to see me,” John theorised, flicking a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Are you here on the subject of emancipation? I’ve been trying my best, but Congress-”

“Is being a stubborn and insolent beast, I know,” Henry finished, grimacing. “I’m here only to close some trade deals. The revolution cost me over forty thousand pounds, and I need to regain some of that, at least. You will inherit all of it one day soon, so I opted to come myself instead of my representatives, to advise you on your impending inheritance.”

“Ah.”

John sat down opposite him, lacing his fingers together. “I’m not taking over the family business of promoting the pollution of society, if that’s what you’re referring to. I will free all of the slaves you leave me, but you already knew that.”

“John, you know I would love to support your noble intention to ban the slave trade, but backing your plan for the battalion has left me with a shaky standing with some influential people in the South, powerful people I need on my side,” Henry said, in a gentle tone. It began to gnaw on John’s nerves. “I can’t free all of my slaves now, not when I’m rebuilding what I lost in the revolution.”

“Money, you mean.” John’s voice was flat.

“To simplify it, yes.”

“At the very least, you can pay them a small wage,” John suggested, his eyes stone. “Let them have some form of dignity.”

“I do treat them well, John-”

“It’s not enough to treat them well,” John cut across him, his temper flaring, his knuckles paling. “They are human beings, same as you and I, and deserve the exact same standard as living, the exact same rights-”

“You don’t have to lecture me on your ideals, John. I know them already,” Henry interrupted, holding up a hand. “And if you can get the law for emancipation passed, of course I will free mine without a moment’s hesitation. I can promise you that much.”

John gritted his teeth, but said nothing. This was an age-old argument with his father, and both of them were too stubborn to move on their stance for any progress to be made. 

“In any case,” his father began again stiffly. “The whole point of my visit was to outline the division of the estate to you. Your siblings already know.”

John settled back, and his father launched into a weighty explanation of how their responsibilities had to be divided equally, how he was the eldest, who he should fraternise with, how he should find a new wife while he’s still young - all the shit John knew he  _ should  _ do but didn’t fucking want to.

“Have you listened to me?” Henry asked. “Take a quill -  write it down, if you think you’ll forget.”

“I won’t,” John reassured him dimly, waving a hand in the air. “I know well what I am supposed to do, Father.”

Henry’s eyes sharpened, picking up on his disillusioned tone. John instantly squared his shoulders, feigning attentiveness, but it was too late. His father’s next words were heavy.

“You are going to carry out  your duties to the family, aren’t you? John, you’re the eldest, the one I can trust to guide our family into the new era of America. I have compromised with you all your life - you have pursued your desires, to join the revolution, to create a black battalion, to come to New York to practice law and fight for emancipation. I have supported you through all of that, John. I expect you to repay me in kind.”

John’s jaw locked tight. “Your support was reluctant at best, Father. I had to sneak away to participate in the revolution-”

“I had a horrid feeling that you would die,” Henry cut across him. “And that man, Hamilton - he was only going to speed up your death, I knew it. He only encouraged your recklessness!”

“He saved my life multiple times, and I his,” John fired back. “Alex is one of the most driven and righteous men I've ever had the fortune to meet, and if you wish to criticise him, I'll have to ask you to find another host.” 

Henry’s expression twisted up in bitterness. “You're threatening to kick out your own father over a half-Scottish bastard? I knew he was bad news for you-”

John spoke over him, raising his voice. “He's a good man, and I won't have you slandering his name in my house.” 

Henry abruptly heaved himself to his feet, staring coldly down at John. “I'm staying at The Rowdy Goose if you need me. I'll be gone on Tuesday.” 

“Alright.” 

John stood with the intention of escorting his father to the door, but Henry waved him off. “Farewell, John. I hope you'll pay me a visit or two when you've cooled down.” 

“Perhaps,” was John’s curt answer. “Goodbye, Father.” 

“Goodbye, John,” Henry said, then paused in the doorway, and looked back at John purposefully. “When you're older, you'll realise that family is what matters most. I'm trusting you with this family, Jacky. Please, don't let us down.” 

His blue eyes were iron, and John dropped his gaze. He hadn't heard his father call him that nickname in years, and it did exactly what his father had intended it to do. 

“I'll try my best,” he told him, and both of them knew how weak that promise was. 

His father’s face slackened, disappointment filling in the creases in his skin, and John’s chest plunged. He expected another lecture, but his father only walked out of the room, a soft bang signalling his exit a moment later. 

It wasn't as if it mattered, right? Martha, his sister, could take care of everything, she was more than capable. Did he even want to honour his father’s wishes? Their relationship was touchy, to say the least, but John knew he did care, layered somewhere down between the thin disapproval and guilt-tripping. But wasn't he right? Didn't John have a duty to his family too?  

John's shoulders sunk as he groaned aloud, rising to his feet. Wow, it really would be nice to be able to talk this over with Alex, but guess what? He'd burned that bridge thoroughly. John hesitated, wondering if that really was the truth. If he stomped down his pride and went to Alexander's door, he wouldn't turn him away. John  _ knew _ that, so why wasn't he?

Maybe it was time he ceased to rely on Alexander so much. He couldn't be always depending on one person for everything. 

John sat down again heavily. His hands inched towards the back of his neck, towards the leather knot, his hair pulled back far too tightly for his liking. It was how his father had always taught him to arrange his hair. John tugged out the strip jerkily, and as his hair fell on the back of his neck he could feel the ghost of Alexander’s soft fingers touching his skin in dim bar light. 

His hands clasped together in his lap, clutching the leather strap as John sunk back into the sound of Alexander’s light voice, his open chatter, his swift laughter. Glancing down, John saw his hands tremble. 

No. No, he wasn’t going to be like this. 

John lurched to his feet and scrambled to the stairs, the unsteady walk of a half-drunken man with a bad taste in his mouth. Snatching up a pair of scissors from his desk, John didn’t slow as he entered into his bathroom. The second he stopped, he was already chopping - first along the sides, then down the middle, and finally a half-assed, blind attack at the back. Droves of curls gathered on his shoulders, rolling off with the movement to rest on his buttons, at his feet like thin, withering petals, brown and crumpled. 

John raised the scissors once more and realised there was nothing else to shear off, not if he didn’t want to be bald. The scissors hit the metal sink with a louder clatter than he’d expected, and his shoulders folded up on themselves. Touching his face wanly, John saw that he’d gained weight already - what had he done the last few weeks? What had he actually been doing? 

He’d been completely overwhelmed with Alex, that’s what. John saw his mouth downturn, flecked with stubble already, and he grimaced. 

Enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank my beta murtfy for checking this shit despite being overworked and sick  
> now i'm going to go back to sleeping twelve hours a day and retreat back into hibernation and denial  
> hope all of you have a swell new year <3

**Author's Note:**

> *exhales*  
> wow that was a trek  
> I hope you enjoyed reading it, I poured so many fucking hours into this so far, my dear beta reader stayed up until 5am to read this, what an absolute legend ( <3)  
> please leave feedback, i'd love to know what you thought!


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